Elisa Maza and the Hunter's Moon
by Lou Serbio
Summary: Elisa Maza's P.O.V. during the events of Hunter's Moon. Read/review would be welcomed & appreciated. NEW UPDATE FOR NOW: Act XII is up. Chapters will be lessened due to health and personal reasons. Sorry for the inconvenience.
1. Act I

_All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.—Jacques, from As You Know It, by William Shakespeare._

_**ACT I**  
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I, Elisa Maza, currently an NYPD Detective, had a passion for acting.

It started while I was a 10 year-old girl at P.S. #143. I auditioned for a school-play adaptation of _The Wizard of Oz: _the movie, not the L. Frank Baum books that I enjoyed far more. Now, since I was quite well known as the goody-two-shoes, everyone expected me to be either Dorothy Gale or Glenda the Good Witch, but I chose the role that I'd use to blow their collective minds: The Wicked Witch of the West.

After plenty of rehearsals, show-time finally hit. Amongst the audience that packed the school auditorium were my proud parents Peter and Diane, my twitchy little brother Derek and my baby sister Beth. Once I was called to the stage, the green makeup was already getting to me, as it was sticky and smelly, but my method acting did not allow such obstacles.

"I'll get you, my pretty, and your little _dog_, too," followed by a cackle, was my platinum line delivery eliciting smiles across the board. It certainly would have made Margaret Dumont proud, but as she was a long dead actress, I settled for crowd approval.

Oh, my acting continued throughout both high school and college; villainous, helpless, hopeless characters that were no vicarious thrill, but still a rush. Besides, both family and friends knew I had a strong, real desire to help the needy and serve the public.

After I enlisted in the NYPD Academy, I was delighted to discover my then-future career entailed the chances to pretend to be someone else; to act. Now rookie, female officers' first undercover assignments are usually posing as prostitutes, and my own first assignment of that category, when I busted about five solicitors, was the performance debut of Sally.

Sally neither emotionally nor physically resembled me. I was the brunette and she was the blonde, which contrasted my half-Black, half-Native American skin pigment. I wished I used her to take down Anthony Dracon for that one assignment a few months back, but Mirror Universe-Elisa had to do. Sally did help take down Thomas Brod, though. For a long time, Sally was my undercover staple on the job.

Presently, even though I had a pretty thick case load, my quota was a little short and I had to fill it soon. My partner, mad Matt Bluestone, was also sharing the weight. So when we learned of several attacks and robberies occurring on the subways, we jumped at the chance.

I should mention seven more magnificent friends who also help me defend this fine City of New York; gargoyles, who transform into stone during the day and are warriors by night (Actually, 'magnificent' is too small a word to describe them.). When I mentioned this particular sting to them, who was I to refuse help offered by clan of eager soldiers?

It was calm and quiet on a Saturday night-early Sunday of late-September. The commuters were few and far between, and therefore it was ideal for Sally to loiter in solitude. I wore the blonde wig and an outfit that hid my athletic physique, because unlike with Brod, I had to appear helpless, vulnerable. Four hours into my shift at a subway stop, couple of idiot Port Authority cops nearly blew my cover asking stupid questions, but I fended them off. After seven hours worth of nothing, I was ready to call it a night. Whoops. Lo and behold, a gang-banger invaded my personal space.

"You spare some change, lady?" The bald, glasses-wearing man, whom I named Moe, said. "I'm trying to pull myself through medical school."

Curtains up. Spotlight: Sally, so first I gave him my 'scared-voice.'

"Here-here you go," I stammered while handing over cash from my purse and bumping into another jerk, who I'd call Larry. "Wh-what do you want," I asked, as if I had no clue.

"Oh, you know, the usual," Larry, with oh-so menacing hoop earrings, began, "Good education, high paying job."

Tsk, such wasted wit. Though I nearly hyperventilated from all my fake gasping, had these two gotten frisky I was confident I could take 'em down. Suddenly, a third creep with an outdated haircut, whom I called Curly, sneaked behind me.

"But we'll settle for a first date,' Curly completed Larry's wish-list with rape innuendo. Ah, it never gets old. But I admit I'd developed a bout of nervousness. To tackle three huge men was a dangerous risk, even for a skilled martial artist like me. And God knows if more scumbags lurked and might emerge from woodwork.

Finally, I felt a forced wind, indicating the subway arrival and subsequent stop. As soon as its doors parted I leaped in, leaned on the pole and struggled to catch my breath. The conductor must have noticed the stooges too, and immediately shut said doors right behind me. As the train pulled off, I sat down. I was still sedentary on my feet all night, damn it. A construction worker nodded to me as I intended to radio both Matt and the awaiting gargoyles to track down those three suspects.

My next gasp was authentic once I glanced to my left and saw them exit the adjoining car and enter ours. How the blue hell did they even get on, by teleportation? It didn't really matter how, though. These guys were packing some heavy weaponry.

"Folks, we're collecting for a worthy cause," Moe, with an automatic in tow, announced it like a carnival barker.

"Yeah, so give till it hurts!" Larry said.

Moe and Curly each held an open laundry bag, and gestured them to the passengers.

As the train emerged from the tunnel onto the El, and while the stooges were busy, I whispered a few words via hidden radio to my gliding allies, "Third car down, three heavily-armed perps, proceed with caution."

"Copy that, we're already en route. Brooklyn out," the second-in-command gargoyle excitedly responded. He'd sure make a good cop.

The trio of antagonists stole valuables from New Yorkers and got closer to me a.k.a. Sally. Had they reached me, I expected them to not take rejection very well. I certainly couldn't act my way out of their attempted murder. But then we all heard an extremely loud thump on the subway car roof.

It re-affirmed a promise from Goliath that he would always be there for me.

Every single passenger was astounded how part of the roof peeled away to reveal the dark sky above us. Moe, Larry and Curly, in the wrong, after all, were far more freaked than them. But once Larry and Moe saw the form of Goliath, they blindly fired their weapons. Goliath avoided the bullet eruption, speedily reached down, grabbed Moe by his coat and yanked his entire body through the opening.

Brooklyn also peeled open part of the roof in an effort to apprehend the remaining two, but Larry got brave by firing at him. When I heard Brooklyn cry out in pain, I almost jumped up. But I kept both my cool and my fingers crossed. Within a split second after Larry finished firing, Goliath reached down, grabbed him, and yanked him up and out.

Curly was stealthy throughout his compatriots' ordeals, having even momentarily dodged my eyes. Goliath must have suspected the perp was still present and I was about to radio him the guy's 20. But the Big Guy jumped into the car with his back to me and unfortunately, also to Curly, who pressed a loaded rifle against his back.

"Tough luck, handsome," Curly labeled him with sarcasm. I believed it as a truth, but I digress.

Curly's confidence allowed Yours Truly the time to ram into him, knocking the weapon loose and to the floor. Goliath took advantage of my wig-losing, yet disarming attack, and slammed him into the door that separates the cars, knocking him out-cold.

"Tough luck, indeed," Goliath quipped. He's actually quite good at that. He should quip more often.

For several seconds he proudly observed his accomplishment. We were sort of hoping for either applause or thanks from the saved individuals, but they were more frightened of him than the criminals, and exclaimed the usual, "Don't come near me," "Stay away, please," "No, stay back," et cetera. As for me, well, I seethed with disappointment; on the verge of anger at these…these damned ingrates.

But Brooklyn, whom I was delighted to see wasn't seriously injured, snapped me out of it by taking it all in stride, having casually said, "We've still got a little P.R. problem."

I looked upward through the other ventilation to see him, head resting in hand. While Angela bandaged him, little Lexington and big Broadway looked on. The stalwart Goliath also ignored the humans' outcry and faced me while I motioned toward him.

"Thank you," his extraordinarily deep voice resonated through his adorable grin. For the most part I'd just sat there, trusting his abilities, but Goliath still showed _me_ gratitude! I nuzzled into his massive, purple-hued torso and we embraced.

"Hey, nobody messes with my best friend," was my instant response.

Goliath flinched ever so slightly before he gently pushed me away. I wondered why he did that, and then I saw how his facial expression became somber. Maybe these ungracious humans affected him more than we realized.

"We'll be in touch," he flatly spoke, then turned around and climbed through the hole. While I watched the five gargoyles lifted off before the train re-entered the tunnel, I felt myself smile as I radioed my partner.

"Matt, come in," I said. "Three perps in custody."

"Great. We're all ready for you here. Bluestone out."

I headed toward the unconscious Curly. "Can't say sorry 'bout rejecting you," I said to him even though I knew he would not hear it while I flipped him over and slapped on the cuffs. "But I already figured you'd have plenty of dates in lockup."

"Excuse me, Miss," I heard and turned around to see a blond female rocking a 90s headband and a '70s pant-suit, mind you. "You're a police officer?"

I secured Curly, stood upright, removed my badge with I.D. from a pocket, and displayed it to her and the rest of the crowd.

"Well, then, I have something to show _you_," she snootily said while reaching into her jacket and removing an ID wallet. She held it open in my face for me to read, but then announced, "I'm Manhattan Assistant D.A. Margot Yale. Care to explain why the hell you were_ cuddling_ with that…_monster_?

"Oh…shit," the only answer I had at that moment.

_**END ACT I**_


	2. Act II

**_ACT II_**

I, Elisa Maza, was a world-class dunce.

A high-ranking official in the NYC government had not only witnessed me in a public display of affection with an urban legend, but also called me out on it.

Margot Yale scowled, crossed her arms-even resisted the turbulence of the train. In response to my mildly profane answer, she asked, "I beg your pardon?"

My throat clinched. As strong an improviser as I was, I still had to lie to someone who heard lies every, single, day. And this_ had_ to be the world's longest subway ride! Seriously, was the next stop in Cuba?

""I…I…" The proverbial wheels spun in my gray matter and finally produced. "I had no _idea_ what it would to do to us! So I tried to see if beauty killed the beast."

Had Yale watched at least _one_ of _three _goddamn _King Kong_ movies, she'd make the connection. Although, I personally never thought I possessed beauty, I just took the word of the men who labeled me as such. False as my immodesty was, Yale raised her left eyebrow in denouncement of it.

"That _thing_ motioned to squish your skull like a melon, Officer," she said, and after a beat, "Fortunately for you, your highly dubious stratagem worked."

Fortunately for me, she bought my referential explanation. But I still itched to dismiss her with a bunch of choice profanities. Instead I retained my calm with, "Are we finished here…ma'am?"

Yale both scowled again and shook her right index finger at me. "I am going to be watching you."

While the train finally halted, she joined those who approached Matt, Officer Morgan, and Officer Travanti amongst several other officers. I sharply exhaled after Yale left me alone, although her confrontation was not entirely unfounded.

In the meantime, I both heard and saw the clamor before I passed through the open doors. My suited, trench-coated partner Matt squeezed past the fearful group and gallantly took my hand, in an effort to bust my chops; because I sort of detested chivalry, unless of course, it was from Goliath. Matt chuckled lightly.

"Had a little help on this operation, I see?" He surmised.

"Just some concerned citizens…with wings," I confirmed.

"The _worst_ joke delivery in the history of ever," Matt critiqued and dropped my hand. "Rodney Dangerfield-reincarnated you are not."

I slugged his right bicep, and monotonically chided, "Shut up."

"Ow," he quietly reacted.

While Morgan and Travanti removed the two men Goliath hung over the side of the train car, the rest of the officers followed Matt and me back inside and gathered up Curly. Matt shone his flashlight up, and then whistled at the collateral damage done.

"Well, the MTA sure won't be thrilled." He'd noted how the MTA had recently, continually endured hefty financial difficulties.

"They'll lay off employees no matter what happened here," I kindly retorted.

Matt nodded in concurrence, but remained focused on what was above our heads. "How the hell are we going to write this report, Elisa? Based on those folks' reactions, we may need to mention the butt of your terrible joke."

I hard-punched Matt's same bicep again, his "Ow," far louder than before.

But he was definitely on the money about everyone, especially those who took cell phone pictures and video. However, since it was so dark, so hectic, I prayed such amateur media was fodder for either _Weekly World News_ or YouTube.

Now, the actress I was had never anticipated to author, but the gargoyles inspired my particular transition in select arrest reports. I'd scribed incredible tales of the gargoyles' intervention, yet never specified who and what they were. Neither judge nor jury would accept the weak defense of criminals who claimed a gargoyle involvement. Such a claim often served as an unintentional confession. All were sufficient enough to arrest and convict several criminals such as Thomas Brod and David Xanatos.

After several minutes of perusal, I finally answered. "We'll tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

Matt did a double take then stared at me as if I had Cerberus-heads. "Really?"

"Difficult to spin it this time, Matt." I hanged my head, and my voice had turned somewhat mousy. "A… Manhattan A.D.A. was a passenger."

"Oh, my God, are you shitting me?" He asked. I'd faced up and shook my head side-to-side in the negative. He then squinted, pinched the bridge of his nose, and calmly declared, "This is so far from good news."

"Light years far." I gave a more accurate measurement.

A forensic examiner arrived on the scene. After another hour of picture taking and evidence-collection, and with an instruction to the conductors to disallow passengers on that car, we released the train back to their control. Matt and I were done, and he sun had completely risen by the time we climbed the subway stairwell to the great outdoors

I'd actually permitted Matt to drive us in my vehicle to the 23rd Precinct, because I harbored too many disjointed musings to have concentrated on the road. For one, Yale shouldn't have intimidated me. I'd technically done nothing wrong, and so I damned her for her critique. By the same token, I never was into the practice of P.D.A. So could I have damned her for being right? I mean, Halloween was a month off, but even if it was today, I sure as hell wasn't dressed like Belle. There was no doubt I lapsed in judgment on duty, just hadn't known why.

After a ten minute drive, we parked in front of the station. Since the gargoyles were already stone-asleep, I headed directly to the locker room, changed out of Sally's frumpy outerwear and back into my usual jeans, black shirt and favorite red-leather jacket.

I returned to Matt, who was already seated at one of our adjoined desks, and appeared to be racking his brains over one of the most ridiculous reports we'd ever written. Moments later, Captain Maria Chavez, our boss, emerged from her office down the long, unobstructed corridor. She appeared neither angry nor flustered, but I had known her to show a poker face. Matt and I no longer had time for coordination once her march ceased beside our desks.

"Your paperwork will keep," she calmly, emotionlessly ordered. "Both of you, in my office, two minutes."

As she turned on her heel and left, Matt and I stared at each other.

"You think she..?" Matt started.

I massaged my temples while pondering consequences of Margot Yale's mini-inquisition. An Assistant District Attorney had unlimited resources to find out where I worked, so it was not far-fetched if she instantaneously contacted Captain Chavez. Whatever the discipline was for hugging a gargoyle, I was dead certain it wouldn't be as pleasant as the action itself. But none of that mattered, because the safety of the gargoyles far superseded mine.

One and a half minutes passed before we trudged toward Chavez' office. We caught a glimpse of a large man in a tan jacket, seated on a bench ten feet from her office, with his back to us. He had not appeared to be threatening, and so we entered her office.

The gray-suited Captain sat behind her desk, elbows rested atop, and fingers lightly interlaced near her mouth. "Sit."

The air seemed to have the consistency of invisible molasses as I slowly sat. Matt sat parallel to my right. After another seventy-three seconds of silence, Chavez spoke.

"How did your operation fare." She asked without sounding inquisitive.

"It fared well. Three arrests," was my immediate answer.

"I look forward to reading your reports," Chavez tersely concluded, but should've been careful what she wished for.

"Uh," Matt raised his arm as a pre-K student would. "Is this the only reason why you called us in here?"

"No, Detective Bluestone, it is not." She zero-emotively answered, and then turned to me. "Maza, I'm reassigning you to day-shift for a while. I need you to show a new transfer the ropes."

Matt and I must have looked like deer caught in headlights.

"Day shift?' I blurted it out with incredulity.

"Aw, come on, Captain!" Matt continued his pre-K behavior with his two cents. But I had one hundred percent shared the sentiment

The major significance about Maria Chavez is she could be an Arctic-cold bitch. But as one of the best female cops in the NYPD who climbed over the walls of sexism to achieve captaincy, she had valid reasons to have been an Arctic-cold bitch. Our respect for her was unconditional, but on this particular morning she caught me way off guard.

"You're breaking up a great team!" I deposited my own change into the complaint jar. "Better than you know!"

"It's only temporary." Chavez actually said it with an understanding while she stood and walked past us. "And it _wasn't_ a request."

While her door creaked upon opening, I stood and vehemently protested. "Well, I just want it on the record that I'm…"

The door completely opened, and who interrupted me was the inspiration for any romance novel cover illustration. He had jet-black hair above a perfectly sculpted face that contained both a radiant smile and amazingly real, blue eyes. His six feet of height also carried the broadest chest, shoulders and arms. His clothes were a simple set of a shirt, slacks and a tan, suede jacket.

In summary: gorgeous.

"Uh…well...hi," was my eloquence-challenged greeting as we shook hands. "Elisa Maza."

"Detective Jason Conover," he answered with a voice that was auditory silk. "Um…nice to meet you."

"Oh, nice to meet you, too," I said through giggling, and suddenly I de-evolved into a 1950's teenybopper. I cleared both my throat and thoughts then continued with, "Er…this is my partner, Matt Bluestone."

I'd caught Matt smirking and shaking his head, so I made a mental note to punch him in his bicep later. But Matt, ever the professional, also shook his hand.

"No epic fails around the best partner I ever had, Conover," Matt politely ordered, rightfully protective.

"Thank you for the advice," Jason answered with sincerity.

"My car is out front," I too-eagerly returned my attention to the temp. "Meet me outside in ten?"

"I'll be waiting, Detective," He said and then exited the room.

I believe I excessively ogled Jason as he left, because when Matt poked my shoulder I jolted like I was shot...again. Actually, at that instant I may well have been stuck by an arrow from Cupid, who likely existed.

I then noticed how my boss, Captain Chavez, stood with her arms crossed and stared at me; basically asked without words what the hell was I doing.

"All righty, then; off to a double-shift." I pumped my right fist outward and walked to the door.

"Maza," Chavez blocked my path with her arm. "Keep it in your pants"

But her words mattered little. All of the tension that I endured in the past few hours was displaced by sexual tension; not necessarily an upgrade. Still, these distractions kept on keeping on, but that fact remained a conundrum.

I rushed into the locker room again, rolled on deodorant, brushed my teeth, re-touched what minimal makeup I wore, and fluffed my hair. At the last second of those ten minutes, I stepped outdoors and saw Jason Conover waited at the foot of the stairs, hands rested in his jacket pockets.

"Hey," I called out, and descended.

"Hey, yourself," Jason replied as he turned around with a smile that glinted. "Where's your unit?"

He referred to my car, so I pointed at it in front of us as I reached the sidewalk. Having seen it, the temp looked delighted and shocked at the same time.

"No way! Your squad car is a 1957 Bayonetta?" He'd announced then paced around it starting near the hood. "It's a classic! Why?"

"Well, for practical usage, she's a tank," I explained while I matched his pace but stopped at the driver's side. "But I also liked being different."

"Hmm, 'different' is an understatement," Jason corrected and smoothed his hands across the exterior during his pace behind it. "I mean, General Motors manufactured only ten thousand of these, out of which only five hundred were painted red. Now, don't tell me this is…"

"A restored paint job," I first said, and then continued, "but yep, she was an original red."

"Hoo, boy," was his interjection as he reached the passenger door. His gaze broke from my car and focused on me far more intensely. "Well, Detective, you can most certainly color me intrigued."

A smile widened across my face and I might even have blushed. "Please, call me Elisa."

We entered to sit in my car; I turned the ignition and slightly revved the engine. Jason and I gave each other a knowing glance, and sped off into the Sunday morning.

It was at that point I knew I was in deep, **deep **trouble.

_**END ACT II**_


	3. Act III

**_ACT III_  
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I, Elisa Maza, was in deep, DEEP trouble.

Never mind that I've neither dated nor had had sex in forever. I grew weary of shallow men who broke out handcuffs jokes on every date. Beth continued to fix me up with no success.

But Good Lord, this Jason Conover; I could count on one hand the times I crushed this hard.

I could even recall my first serious crush was on my Chemistry lab partner. Okay, so his name presently escaped me, plus we never formally met until our junior year at Midtown High in Queens. This boy was awkward, lanky, shy, and he wore huge, round-framed eyeglasses. But during our classes together I discovered his brilliance, his unyielding love for his family, and his bearing of responsibility for each of his actions. These were the attributes that made him extraordinarily attractive to me.

Whenever he was bullied, I wanted to gift a major beatdown to those who did it, since I was already a brown belt in Aikido, and it would have been easy. My lab partner paid them no mind and asked me to do the same. I admired his perseverance through such persecution. He'd even regularly encouraged my dream of becoming a police officer, having said chemistry and biology would be very useful for that career.

We'd remained friends until graduation, but I never summoned the courage to ask him out. Because I didn't have a chance with someone so important, someone who would go on to do something amazing. Ah, yes, his name was Peter; shouldn't have forgotten he had the same first name as my dad.

With Jason, my initial reaction was hormonal until his assessment of my automobile shifted it to an inescapable crush.

We patrolled in my 57 Bayonetta in uncomfortable silence. A few times at red traffic lights I looked over at him, caught him as he looked away, and vice versa. Sure, it was fun, but I yearned for more than flirtation. Twenty minutes of quietness passed before I'd begun small talk.

"So, which, um…precinct did you transfer from?" I ended a sentence with a preposition. Wait, I thought that was improper grammar? Would he have given a damn if it was?

"One in another city," Jason answered me flatly.

Sounded like he probably caught it, and he probably liked genius chicks. Wait, I was a goddamn police detective! We were the only cops intelligent enough to get this far!

"Really?" I played along. "What city?"

"A small one compared to this," he said with mild enthusiasm. "A town this size must take a _lot _of work to protect."

"Yeah, it's more than a job," I agreed. "It's a way of life."

"I've heard some pretty wild things about New York," he continued, "like alligators in the sewers."

"I could tell you stories," was my generous offer, even though I preferred to hear every word his larynx provided

"I'm all ears," he said.

"No, you're all man." Damn, was that an internal or external thought?

"Well, thank you," He heard.

Double-damn, I said it aloud. I sure talked to myself a lot. I _had_ to stop that. Nevertheless, I glossed over my _faux pas _because I truly wanted to regale him with stories of the super and supernatural forces that complemented our wondrous metropolis.

First were the unconfirmed. One was how it was not alligators, but life-sized, bipedal terrapins that have been sighted in the sewers. There were also thousands of other-world creatures that secretly resided in New York City. But their witnesses, upon being questioned about them, suddenly lost their memory.

Next, Jason listened to the confirmed and documented by both law enforcement and the media: a vigilante costumed like a devil and who dared any criminal to enter Hell's Kitchen; a superhuman vigilante who swung around the city, stuck to walls and caught thieves just like flies; and four ghost-hunting but average men who thwarted two apparitional apocalypses on this city.

During another thirty minutes of road patrol, I captivated my temporary partner with these tall tales. On my conclusion, he simply slapped his knee and laughed a hearty, infectious laugh.

"Those far exceeded my expectations," Jason admitted.

"They did more richly define 'pretty wild' for you, didn't they?" I rhetorically asked through my own guffaws.

Our party ended once we heard Dispatch announced a suspicious vehicle at the docks of the East River Warehouse District. We were nearest and took the call. In minutes we turned right at the docks.

"See anything?" I asked while the car slow-rolled.

"Not yet," the temp answered, and a beat later, "marked it."

He pointed at a green van indeed suspiciously parked adjacent to a storage facility owned by Xanatos Enterprises. Marvelous, I probably had to confront that asshole David Xanatos again.

Then the waterfront literally went kaboom as an explosion rocked us like a Coney Island bumper car. I stomped on the accelerator to find the cause of this blast, and all that transpired came into our focus. With the warehouse door hollowed outward, out of the building came two ski-masked men who held large canisters. They sprinted toward their van but hadn't seen that we veered in and screeched to a halt. Jason and I leaped out, crouched behind the doors, and aimed our handguns at these idiots.

"Police!" I announced.

"Freeze!" Jason and I simultaneously commanded.

To my surprise, the moron-twins surrendered immediately. But how about Jason Conover; worked together an hour and we were already in sync. Damn shame this was only tempor-

"Freeze yourself!" A male voice called out from behind.

My peripheral vision saw two other masked thugs, firearms aimed at our backs. Damn it, one hour and I was now gonna get us killed. We raised our arms, but much like the dudes from last night, they were cocky and hadn't shot us. Still, I was sloppy; stormed in as if I were at the beach at Normandy. They'd gotten the drop on us, and I was unable to formulate a last second save.

So help me God, I was frightened.

But that couldn't have been me! I shouldn't have been a careless teenage girl with writer's block! And I could neither end up becoming a beaten-up hostage nor be murdered by petty criminals! I had to snap to, but after ten seconds, the thugs got even cockier.

"Drop the hardware," the same thug ordered. We as police officers were not allowed to follow it, so I guessed we needed to…

Within three seconds, Jason tucked and rolled out of my sight. The bozos wildly fired their weapons at both us and their own men. I heard Jason discharge his weapon. Its bullet impacted the canister, and a huge explosion of smoky chemicals dispelled the first two men. Again, this transpired _within_ _three_ _seconds_.

As for me, when the thugs shot, I ducked and let out a clipped shriek. But once Jason did what he did, the brave cop that I was made a swift comeback.

With two persons momentarily out of our way, Jason and I slipped around to the outsides of my open doors. The shooters scurried to behind crates then laid more ammo towards us. We returned fire, and then we saw the green van sped past, picked up their buddies, and took off.

Jason and I hopped back in; we backed up and peeled out. Jason placed my light atop the roof and I hit the siren.

"Call it in!" I told him.

While he did so, we caught up to and closely chased the assailants through Uptown Manhattan. Their back doors parted and their shooting resumed. Though I weaved my car to avoid hits, she just wasn't faster than a speeding bullet

As per the usual Sunday mornings in New York, it was light on traffic, heavy on crowds. The uncaring Fearsome Foursome never decelerated through these streets and nearly plowed into pedestrians and horses. Very soon, our two vehicles jumped a curb onto the Central Park walkways.

They reloaded, and in disapproval of our unrelenting pursuit, still shot at us. Jason seemed unfettered as he leaned out the window and shot back, yet every hit was the van's interior; a deliberate and impressive tactic which delayed their assault. The four goons desperately veered the van left and rode it down a steep hill.

"My mechanic's going to love this," I muttered. And Benny really would, too. The guy had five kids to feed.

We mimicked their turn and still followed. The bumpy ride would not allow either sides to fire, but at least there were no people in harm's way, even after we hit flat ground and zoomed past the Bethesda Fountain. Unfortunately, the flat ground also allowed for the redundant thugs to keep shooting at us.

This chase had to end, because eventually somebody would get seriously hurt. If only these goons would have stopped shooting long enough for me to try a PIT maneuver.

Jason held his fire for cover, and then shot out the van's left rear tire, which shredded the rubber. At their velocity on this terrain the vehicle swerved with nil control. It did an A-Team leap off a small cliff and landed out of our sight into a clearing.

I gave Jason quick thumbs up as I slowed down and drove past the cliff toward the clearing where luckily were no people. While we saw three of the four men stumble out unhurt, we stopped, more cautiously emerged from my car and aimed our weapons at their heads.

"I said, 'freeze.'" I unintentionally excluded Jason from our shared command because I was pretty pissed off after they Swiss-cheesed my car.

They slowly raised their hands.

"Where's number four?" Jason bellowed.

"We…we don't know!" One guy standing atop the felled van whined.

"Shit," I whispered. Finally, our backup finally arrived; three marked cars and a wagon, and less worry about an ambush this time.

Procedure for their arrest was closely followed, and they were corralled into the wagon. After all was said and done, Jason and I made it out in one piece with the collar. After some briefing, we stood on the sidelines and watched our brothers in blue clean up.

"Sunday in the park with dirtbags," was my observation. I then turned to Jason. "Not bad shooting, Clyde."

"Thanks, Bonnie," Jason got the reference. "You were pretty good behind the wheel."

Huh. I chose the two notorious bank robbers from American history as a metaphor for two cops. But I was still kind of glad he picked it up.

"Can I…buy you a cup of coffee?" He asked.

"Yes, of course," I immediately accepted, "That is, _after_ we complete our truckload of paperwork."

"Yeah, my Firearms Discharge Report form is gonna be a mile long," he said with a nervous chuckle

My new habit of staring at Jason continued, but this time it was out of respect. He was the superior cop in in the face of death, the very position in which I placed him. But he had not argued with me, had not judged me, and had not retaliated against me. He just deftly saved our lives. That was the mark of a great partner.

We hadn't exaggerated about our paperwork for this particular collar, which took more than an hour to finish. By the time we were done, my grumbling stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten in hours.

Colandro's Coffee House had great coffee, great food, and was my little secret. It was not easy to keep secrets from caffeine-addicted, hungry cops. But hey, I was good at my job, and occasionally I do lead with my taste buds.

I'd oft enjoyed the ambrosia of their coffee with egg, bacon and cheese sandwich. Of course, I couldn't chow down on such a feast in front of my dreamy co-worker, but I was no salad-eater either. Jason and I split a bowling-ball sized blueberry muffin.

We chose a small table away from prying eyes. The long, Union-required lunch break allowed for our calm conversation that ranged from work, to education, to simple likes and dislikes. We finally got to the topic of family.

"Any children?" I asked a fair question.

"No," he said with a grin and stirred his coffee refill. "You?"

I shook my head side to side while I nibbled a piece of the muffin. Then I aimed high. "Not married?"

"Unh–uh," he uttered during a sip, and then set down the cup. "Not yet."

"Brothers? Sisters?" I dug deep.

"Yes, actually," he said, and removed from his wallet an old, frayed photograph. "We're very close to this day."

In the age of instant digital photography, I found it refreshing that a man retained a paper picture of his family in his wallet. Jason handed it over; an outdoors scene that featured him, his younger sister and his little brother standing together as smiling children.

"Jon and Robyn," he listed.

"This is so _cute_," I gushed. "Look at how happy you guys are!"

"Well, yeah, they were happier times," he recounted. When I looked up from the picture, his face was not the picture of happiness, as he said, "My father took that picture of us two days before he was…before he died."

"Oh, my God, Jason, I...I'm so sorry," my free hand covered my mouth.

"No, Elisa, it's all right," he said with composure. "He…was murdered in the line of duty; his murderer was never caught. It just still hurts."

Jason shut his eyes and tightly wrung his hands while he poured his heart out to me, and my heart sank for him. When I returned his picture, my own hand stayed in place to cover and soothe what he wrenched. Having felt my touch, his blue eyes reappeared and he lightly grasped my fingers.

"Since that day, I strived to follow in his footsteps, carry out his legacy and fight the evils of the world," he continued, and then when he noticed his photo rested on the table, sighed heavily. "Robyn and Jon are all who's left of my family. I do what I do to protect them, above all, nothing bad will happen to them."

"What's his name?" I asked of his father.

"Charles…" he moderately answered. "His name is Charles," he repeated with a more filled voice.

"I firmly believe that Charles is very,_ very_ proud of you, Jason."

My assurance seemed to have relaxed him even further. But when we noticed how our hands were positioned, we'd broken contact like we held hot coals. We fidgeted, and then both simultaneously asked the waitress:

"Check, please!"

_**END ACT III**_


	4. Act IV

**ACT IV**

I, Elisa Maza, burned the candle at both ends. The candle was now a congealed puddle of wax.

As diurnal animals, humans were not designed to be awake for much longer after sunset. There were medical studies of evening workers, as they were known to be high risks for sleep deprivation, diseases stress, and social dysfunction.

I must have been a freak of nature, then, evidenced by my life's history. When I was a baby, I slept entire days, but stayed awake throughout the dark. At least that was what Mom told me. As an adolescent on non-school nights I read books, stared at the stars, et cetera, till dawn. The college years, I registered mostly evening classes. While every Academy graduate loathed the concept of night shift, I requested it on rookie-day-one; only deviated a handful of times since.

But I had adjustment issues with this go-around on day shift for a variety of reasons. The fatigue caused me mild inebriation.

After Jason and I finished brunch, the remaining hours were less eventful than the first few hours. We returned to the 23rd, finished up more paperwork, and I rounded off my piled-up case load. When it came time to turn in our radios, Jason walked up to me.

"So if you'd want to do this again tomorrow, I'm game," he said, with a wry grin.

"We're paired on the duty roster, wisenheimer," I corrected, as I placed my hands on my hips.

We both knew full well he was not referring entirely to work. But he nodded in understanding as we punched out and parted ways.

I was not so spent that I would pass up my nightly visit to my extended family. The stairs-climb to the clock tower of this one hundred fifty year-old building was always a workout. But ever since I attuned to the gargoyles, my primary goal was to witness their dusk awakenings at their third home. David Xanatos banned them from Castle Wyvern, where they first resided.

Shortly before sunset, I reached the tower's interior and exited to breezy outdoors of the balcony. Stone statues of Angela, Broadway, Brooklyn, big-dog Bronx, Goliath, Hudson, and Lexington were poised on the stretched parapet. I leaned on the ledge, prepared to be fascinated.

The sun rapidly dove out of the horizon. In a moment, their eyes opened with a dazzling, white glow as the rest of their stone skin cracked and sectionalized. Sequentially, they roared, stretched their powerful bodies and forcefully burst of their shells. It was as if they'd always informed the entire world that they were awake and badass.

"I _never_ get tired of that," I responded.

As they all turned around, I moseyed over to Brooklyn. He dusted off the bandage on his injury, removed it, and then faced me.

"Good as new, I see," was my observation.

"Yep, we call it 'The Concrete Cure-All'" Brooklyn was quite the comedian. That beaked fellow once built a huge frame of cardboard piping and tin foil, poked his face, hands and torso through the foil, and pretended to be in pain just before he turned to stone. Presto: Brooklyn in Carbonite.

"What's up?" He inquired while he hopped off the perch.

"Well, my new partner and I had some excitement today," I answered while the gargoyles surrounded me.

"New partner?" Broadway chimed in, sounding a little bummed. "Where's Matt?"

I intended to brief them all, but... "Cliffhanger, guys. Need to talk to your fearless leader in private."

The others spoke amongst themselves while they entered and Broadway hoped I brought coffee. Meanwhile, I pulled Goliath by his huge right arm away from everyone's acute hearing.

The appropriately-named Goliath was a gallant, intellectual, gargoyle leader, and my closest friend, who saved my life more times than I can completely list. Although I owe him many times over, he was so selfless that he never accepted.

He and I hung out a lot, certainly not at a movie or a restaurant. Instead, Goliath had often read poetry to me in our next door library. On warmer nights we occasionally found a secluded roof to dine or just converse. Although our social achievements had limits, we made every moment count.

"Isn't 'Fearless Leader' a sarcastic moniker?" Goliath asked with a quizzical expression on his face.

My face probably showed a similar expression until I thought his question through. "For you that title is literal," I explained. "No offense meant, Big Guy."

"None taken," he said through a smile. "Besides, I merely, how is it phrased, 'pulled your leg?'"

Although I was exhausted, Goliath still made me LOL. He joined in with a muted chuckle.

"Well, hate to break up our merriment," I said as my laughter petered out. "I have unpleasant news."

I told him everything: A.D.A Margot Yale; her belief that Goliath and I canoodled; the phone pictures; Matt and I mentioning the clan in our reports. After what I said, Goliath took in a deep breath, which puffed out his tremendous chest, and released an extended, guttural sigh.

"I wanted you to be the one to break it to the clan, Goliath," I concluded.

"We always knew this day would come, but you do what you think is best," he determined. "The clan will support you. I support you in every way, always."

"You're awesome," I responded, but he deserved better. "You're _unequivocally_ awesome!"

"Easy, you are about to give me a swelled head," the Big Guy said through an even wider smile.

"What the hell did that Yale know, anyway?" I reiterated with a backhanded swipe at air. "She thought you'd crush my skull or some nonsense!"

Goliath harrumphed, yet now seemed discomforted. "Well, I regret she saw it that way."

"Oh. Did you just move your arm, or something?" I did wonder why Yale was so random with that comment.

"Yes," He hung his head, almost ashamed. "But it was…it was because I only wished to stroke your hair."

But I paused, only because I was flattered.

"Aww, Goliath, really?" My inflection lilted upward. "That's so _sweet_!" I considerably closed the gap between us and grasped his left hand with both of my hands.

"Elisa, you need not…" Goliath stumbled back a skoche.

"Oh hush, you," I playfully ordered. I maneuvered his clawed-fingers to comb through my locks above my right ear. Since I was not Curley's Wife and he most certainly was not Lennie Small, I let him continue under his own power.

"It is…very soft," was his calm analysis, to my relief. I hadn't washed it in a couple of days.

A hand that gashed stone and metal caressed my tresses. Then he lightly massaged them with his knuckles. His gentle, sedating movement caused my eyes to close for a spell, but Goliath inspired me to reciprocate.

"Kneel down," I suggested to the seven feet-tall gargoyle.

Without hesitation, Goliath knelt on his right knee, nearly to my eye-level. I stepped past his left leg and pressured evenly onto his warm torso and my right arm draped over the crook of his neck and shoulder. I reached for a left-handful of his dark, long, thick hair. It flowed like water between my thin fingers, and Goliath impressed me yet again.

_Here_ was the place and time to do this, not on a subway full of gawking, prejudiced assholes. As we continued for several moments, Goliath's left hand rested firmly against my head.

"Hmm?" was my wonderment. After another moment passed, I felt his hot breath on my neck. My eyes widened, as I was casually stunned.

We leaned back very, _very _gradually until our faces aligned. His symmetrical facial contours and deep-brown eyes were alluring. The loud thumping of his heart was mesmerizing. His lavender musk was intoxicating. Everything Goliath was; just so perfect.

"Elisa…" Goliath whispered majestically.

Lord Almighty; that voice…

I was rendered speechless… My eyelids narrowed… My face…drew even closer to his…

…WHOA!

I sprung myself from his light grasp. As Goliath clumsily stood, I straightened out my jacket and fixed my hair. "I…I…I have to brief the others on what else happened today."

As I spun around to reenter the shelter, Goliath tersely huffed while he plodded behind me. When we approached the clock, we heard a little commotion behind its glass.

"Move, _move it!" _sounded like Brooklyn, "They're coming back in!" from Broadway, "Watch out, you big dummy!" muffled from Lexington, and then maximum shuffling, minimal crashing.

Goliath and I glanced at each other in puzzlement as we opened the door and saw the tenants. Broadway and Brooklyn played Rock-paper-scissors, Hudson read _Flowers for Algernon _upside down then quickly flipped it back over, Lexington feverishly tapped a laptop's keys, Angela whistled while she fumbled with macramé, and Bronx chomped on a play toy.

"All right, everyone, gather 'round," I said as we descended the small stairway. While they complied I sat at the base of the third small flight, crossed my legs and recounted my day**:** Jason Conover, our high-speed chase of robbers through Central Park, how their stolen merchandise was a potent disinfectant DI-7, and that Matt currently questioned its distributor Xanatos. "And that's the story."

Well, not quite. I sighed a teenage-girl-with-a-crush-sigh. "You should have _seen_ Jason in action! This guy could shoot a fly out from between its wings!" During my vivid description, my left arm flailed as if I conducted a symphony orchestra. It might have been the first time I was happy about a muscle-pull.

"You seem quite impressed with your new partner," Goliath accurately analyzed, having crossed his arms and smiled.

"Well…I mean…he's a good cop. That's all." I then shut my eyes and slumped. "And it's temporary."

"Of course," Goliath said. His smile disappeared yet again.

I pushed off the base to stand up, massaged my shoulder, and yawned. "These double shifts; I gotta get some sleep." I said, more to myself. "But I'm a little worried that whoever planned this heist might try again tonight."

"Don't worry, Elisa," Broadway said with his hand on my arm. "We'll keep an eye on the stuff."

"Thanks," I said to him. Good ol' Broadway. When he accidentally shot me with my own weapon, I never once held a grudge before or after I healed. But Broadway still had emotional scars from our incident, and volunteered to be my second best protector of the clan. He was a soulful warrior whose bulbous physical appearance is nothing to judge.

"Our computer says Xanatos stores DI-7 in two places," I announced while I mimed the amount, "the East River warehouse the thieves hit today, and a chemical plant on the Upper West Side."

"Somehow, I doubt Xanatos is a true victim in this," Goliath surmised. "But we will split up and keep watch over both locations."

"Later, guys. I've got a date with a pillow," That sounded rather pathetic, but at least they didn't really care to know the context.

"Come, we have work to do," Goliath said to his clan as they rushed back outdoors.

But before I descended the small stair-ladder, I had to say something to last-one-out Lexington. "Wait, Lex!"

Lexington screeched to a stop. "Yes, Elisa?"

"I must readjust my sleep schedule in order to work with Jason," I said. "So just text me. I'll read 'em in the morning."

"Call me Lexington the Texting One," he answered and half-saluted.

Lexington: lil bald gargoyle, big brain. He was more brilliant than the 10th century allowed. I'd given him an unclaimed I-Phone from the lost and found department, and he jury-rigged it to give him unlimited minutes and texts. Hey, he was a _genius gargoyle_, some legal leeway was permissible.

Surprisingly quiet were Angela and Hudson. I guess Angela still needed to acclimate to her New York surroundings. Although I wasn't old enough to be her mother, to her I was more of an aunt from our quest in Avalon till now; another female confidant, rather than her Father, four other males, or a dog.

Surely she confided in Hudson, a wise, old soldier with near-infinite wisdom and worthy of respect. I thoroughly enjoyed hearing his tales of his ancient days of Scotland. I was also extremely proud of his ever-growing literacy.

I was in no condition to drive. Hell, I started to see colors not even on the spectrum. So I hailed a cab and relaxed in its back seat. During the ride, my mind raced back to Jason Conover, and all that we experienced together during a single day. Jason passed the "five minute rule," but he also proved to be amiable, charming, intelligent, esoteric, anguished. He was…normal, so it was definitely not lust or a crush. I saw a future with him.

I was probably in love with my partner.

I must have dozed off in the cab. Its driver needed to say we were by my apartment building. The distance to my front door was short, but tonight it seemed like a trek. I finally entered my spacious, rent-controlled domicile.

Cagney, my fuzzball of a cat, snuck up on me and affectionately slid against my leg. "Hi, buddy," I wearily greeted him. Dammit, his dish needed to be filled.

With my eyes getting sore, in the dark I emptied my pockets of keys, Blackberry, and gun, which I was aware enough to place in a lock-box. Then I dumped a few ounces of dry food into Cagney's bowl, put my hard-line phone on speaker and played the voice mail; three messages.

"This is your Mother," She was still in Africa, I believed. "Haven't seen any emails from you, and I got a little worried. I hope you call me. Love you."

I took off my jacket, shoes and socks, and tossed them to the oak floor.

Next message: "It's Beth. Daddy has been worried about you. Call or text me when you have time."

Ever since they entered the world of the fantastic, my parents were more concerned about me than before, even though I'd been safer than I'd ever been before.

Third message: "Elisa? It's Jason; hoped to catch you before you went to bed. It was thrilling to work with you; quite the change of what I'm accustomed. I look forward to the coming days. Bye."

My pants and shirt were removed, so I wore nothing but underwear during that third playback; could've cut the awkwardness with a knife.

But I faded fast. From the fridge I took a swig from a bottle of apple juice. I wasn't clean, but a hot shower would only have kept me awake. The cold shower I also needed was none the wiser option. So I headed directly to my bedroom, slipped on a New York Rangers T-shirt, and removed my brassiere.

My bed never looked so inviting, but I was still sleeping alone. But I just knew that would change, and soon. I sprawled across the mattress, covered myself with the blanket and rested my head on the soft pillow. Before I drifted into REM bliss, I projected one last vocal thought:

"No more mixing business with pleasure."

**END ACT IV**


	5. Act V

**ACT V**

I, Elisa Maza, was in the dark.

No, seriously, I woke up to pee at around a quarter to five in the morning and it was still dark out. And I stubbed my toe on the damn credenza. In any event, my bladder perfectly timed this rise, because I never set my alarm clock.

Ten uninterrupted hours sleep granted me the fully required rest, but I could've sworn I had a hangover. My diagnosis as a layperson was the combined influx of both adrenalin and estrogen in my system got me drunk. Go figure.

And how I _hated _being dirty. The only horrible situations on our trip through Avalon were the days that I'd gone without bathing. But I should have chalked that up as a learning experience: maybe folks rode ripe like that in the 10th century? In the bathroom, I stripped to my birthday suit and cranked the bathtub faucets for a calescent jet stream of H20. Once I stepped under it, it was as if the hand of God Himself touched me.

I arched back and soaked my hair; must've looked like the movie cliché when the lead female character stood sedentary and the water cascaded across her body, without any real washing. Yeah I may have briefly appeared like that, but then I grabbed the Ivory Soap with washrag and scrubbed, even used the soap on my hair. Hadn't I mentioned I _hated_ being dirty?

Fifteen glorious minutes of cleansing passed before I shut off the water, toweled dry, and ran the gamut of proper hygiene. Then I dressed, brushed out my wet hair, and applied a little foundation.

My headache was somewhat alleviated by the shower heat, so I skipped aspirin or coffee. But a hot meal a common breakfast hour seemed like a novel concept. So, at my kitchen counter I ate very delicious instant oatmeal with sliced banana.

However mundane this activity, and however alone I was, it depicted certain degrees of normalcy_. _I pondered how this could eventually end up with the addition of a husband to whom I can feed a piece of toast just before he left for work and of children for whom I'd prepare PB&J sandwiches and then send off to school. Perhaps we all resided in a wonderfully large house with a back yard where he'd fire up the barbeque on Sunday afternoons and our children would frolic.

Ever since I was younger, I always entertained the idea of starting a family. Concrete images were A) the house was surrounded by a white picket fence, thank you very much. And B) the man's face was blurred.

That was, until this morning. For two more weeks I would be partnered with Detective Jason Conover, whom I was still hopelessly in love. Here I thought my mind evicted yesterday's emotions, but they were omnipresent. Now while I cannot help that the blank-canvas face was now illustrated with his handsome kisser, I also had not forgotten my pre-slumber decree that I would not be such a girly-girl on the New York City taxpayers' dime.

The sky was in its earliest brightening stage. I needed to check in on Goliath and the clan to validate my hunch had they lucked out at the DI-7 sites. In haste, I left the half-eaten cereal in the sink, removed my gun from the lock-box, holstered it, grabbed my keys and phone, threw on my jacket, and headed for the door. My Blackberry wouldn't power up because I forgot to charge the goddamn thing. Now I probably missed any text message Lexington sent. I left my work phone and chargers in my car, so I would have to just be in the dark…figuratively this time.

"Head in the _game _today, Maza!" was my mini-pep talk that covered_ all_ bases.

When I stepped outside from the building foyer, a cool breeze whisked my damp hair as I hailed a cab. During the back-seat ride, I observed and admired everyone who was up and about this early-Monday morning: homeless man limped near a McDonald's; skateboarder rolled next to us; food vendors prepared Manhattanites' reasonably-priced lunches.

It was as if the city stretched its arms and scratched its belly.

I've lived here my entire life but hadn't appreciated the inherent quaintness of this titanic town. I never should have given Captain Chavez crap about this shift, so I made a mental note to apologize and then thank her for this fresh insight. As for Jason, well, perhaps I could thank him also, with my own special means.

The mini-tour ended once the cab stopped in front of the precinct. I'd entered our office, focused on entering the clock tower stairwell. But the presence of Jason Conover leaned against my desk sidetracked me. Beside him on the desk sat two coffees wedged in a cardboard-tray, and a hot-buttered bagel to boot, damn it.

"Morning," Jason subtly greeted and held out one of the paper cups. "Hope I remembered how you like it."

No business with pleasure. No business with pleasure. No business with pleasure. No business with pleasure.

"Thank you, kindly," I said…and curtseyed. _Triple_-damn, there went my new credo in record time! Still, I sipped the beverage, and by Jove, he got the mixture perfect. "Jason, I must do something right now. I'll see you in a few."

"Okay," he replied with a nod.

I sped off, because that friggin' sky ever brightened. I pushed through the entrance and bounded two steps at once. As I neared the final flight of ascension, the voice of Goliath graced my ears. Hold everything, why weren't they outside?

"Hold on, Angela! _Fight,_ my daughter!" He pleaded. "It is not long until dawn! The sun will heal you!"

Oh. My. God.

I dropped the coffee and jumped three steps at a time to reach their sanctuary. Yards ahead of me, the clan huddled around Goliath, who gently jarred Angela's head to revive her as she laid motionless in his arms.

No. No. No. Dear God, not her!

I darted toward the group. "Give me some room!" I commanded and they complied. Goliath set her flat on the floor and he shifted over.

There was zero time to retrieve the defibrillator from downstairs, so my instinct resorted to my training in Cardio Pulmonary Respiration. Her anatomy was not much different from an average teenage human female. I knelt down, leaned over her, placed my right palm on her chest cavity, placed my left hand atop the hand and interlocked my fingers. I immediately began chest compressions. If I needed the entire one hundred for each minute, then I would do them.

Breathe, girl! Wake _up_, girl!

After a minute's worth of two mouth-to-mouth breaths per thirty compressions, no response from Angela. Perhaps her unique physiology made the compressions ineffective? Had I pushed deep enough? During the second minute, I'd continued the two breaths per thirty compressions,

Breathe!

Then the third minute…

Damn it, Angela! **Breathe**!

Then the fourth minute…

Then the sound of living enveloped us, as Angela inhaled the nitrogen and oxygen of Mother Earth. I was shocked and overjoyed. Gasping for air never sounded so melodious to me before. I touched Angela's forehead while she came to. Couldn't really discern every word my joyous friends simultaneously spoke, but I had pinpointed Hudson saying, "It's a miracle!"

"She lives," Goliath said with relief, placed his caring hand over my right arm and turned me towards him, "thanks to you."

Once again Goliath showed _me _gratitude, so I shyly lowered my head.

"CPR: The Gift That Keeps On Giving." A bit of levity was OK since she was in the clear, but I had to know, "what happened to her?"

"We were attacked at the warehouse by three humans in black," he recounted, as I checked her steadying pulse.

"Yeah, and Demona hit the place on the West Side," Brooklyn added.

"Demona. So, she is still alive." I said, and well, duh, the immoral gargoyle was immortal. We and even she often forgot that pertinence. But the bitch blamed humans for the destruction of her own kind, and now she enlisted them? Light years far from good news.

"Any idea who the others were?" I returned to Goliath, who rose from his crouched position and trudged a few meters away from us.

"They call themselves 'hunters.' But soon, they will be the prey," he answered, and then unfurled his wings. "_My _prey."

And one second after his declaration, the sun froze all of them into stone. I crouched next to a now petrified Angela.

"Sleep well, my niece," I said aloud and traced her rocky cheek with my right forefinger. "We'll catch the fuckers who hurt you."

I stood straight up, squeezed my fists till they shuddered and reddened, and then stormed downstairs. I needed Matt Bluestone's aid, and I hoped he hadn't yet left because I couldn't text him. I surveilled our office and spotted Bluestone's redhead popping through his beige trenchcoat near the exit. I called his name and Matt stopped in his tracks.

"Hey partner," while he looked relieved to see me, he also seemed aware something was rotten in Denmark. "What is it?"

I told him all about Angela.

"She'll be all right?" Matt sounded like he begged for a positive result.

"We'll know for sure by sunset. In the meantime, I need you for a little off-hours investigation."

Matt offered without speaking, and so I repeated Goliath's description of the hunters.

"I'll see what I can dig up," he answered

"Thanks, partner." Then I nudged his right bicep. He knowingly smiled while he turned to walk out.

I one-eightied as Jason stood about ten feet away behind me, profiled right; looked like he was talking into his jacket collar as I approached him.

"Hit him, now," sounded like what he said.

"Hit who?" I asked.

"Sorry, on the phone, nothing important." He removed a Bluetooth off his left ear, and then he too looked worried for me. "Hey, everything okay?"

I hadn't responded even after we picked up our radios. We left the precinct just as a WVRN news reporter interviewed Matt about gargoyles, but ever loyal Matt went into his Fox Mulder shpeal about aliens. Jason and I observed them for a moment, but I grew impatient.

"Come on. We've got a crime scene to investigate," I announced and dragged Jason to my car.

"What's the hurry?" He reached the passenger door. "Afraid that reporter was going to grill you about gargoyles?"

"Yeah, right," I said with mock apathy. "Look, I just want to get moving before this trail gets any colder."

After we sat, I revved the engine and peeled out towards the warehouse on the West Side.

So, just as I once again imagined my future family, I nearly lost a current family member. That infuriated me to no end. Goliath was and would be infinitely more furious. Perhaps Demona was an obsessive-compulsive housecleaner, but I _had_ to know why the blue hell she endangered her daughter's life to steal that stupid disinfectant. Even one lead might allay Goliath's impending wrath.

Could not bring myself to be attentive to Jason right now; had to stay on track. My weaving the Bayonetta in and out of the ever-increasing Monday-morning traffic partially rocked us in our seats.

"Elisa, this is reckless, even for you," Jason commented. "At least fill me in on the crime scene we're going to and why we need to break the sound barrier to get there."

"Xanatos Enterprises was robbed again," I paraphrased Brooklyn's source material. "Happy?"

We finally rolled down the lane of identical storage houses until we saw the area of the newest crime scene. I screeched us to a halt in front of a mangled, singed garage door surrounded by police tape. As I shut off the engine and motioned to leave, Jason lightly grabbed my right wrist to delay my exit.

"Tell me the _real_ reason," he politely demanded.

Okay, so the temp saw through my bullshit, but I still had to lie a truth. I involuntarily sighed and could barely look at Jason. "A very close friend of mine was assaulted. She nearly died."

"Do we know who did it?"

"Not yet," and I sighed again. All this sighing was like a fuse burning down to detonate my emotional TNT. "I feel so…"

"Frustrated, helpless, angry," were his choices.

"All of the above," I said after a terse, nervous chuckle.

"You wanna nail the guy who hurt your friend," Jason rallied as he leaned in closer.

"Yes. I do."

"I've been there," then he slumped. "I'm _still _there."

And that was when I could tell he flashed back to his late father. I was again in the presence of the mourner whom I comforted in the restaurant yesterday; the same man who upheld the law of the land in his dad's memory; the same man with an unconditional protective nature for his family; the same man I am insanely in love with.

Jason sat so closely to me while his right hand rested on the dashboard. When I placed my right hand onto his, he returned his line of sight to me for several seconds. The limpid windows to his tortured soul were so very, very blue.

Goddamn it! Now was _definitely_ not the time! I reinstated the creed.

"Check the point of entry, okay?" I suggested while I lightly shoved him away.

"Right, chief," he replied.

Wow, an unintentional double entendre and an unintentional racial slur ended our conversation. It was going to be a weird Monday.

While Jason checked his point, I went inside to oversee the carnage. Everything in the warehouse was disheveled or destroyed, save for Owen Burnett. He currently surveyed the damage while carrying a clipboard and pen. Burnett is actually one of Oberon's Children known as Puck, who agreed to a lifetime of servitude to David Xanatos.

"So, your boss is cozy with Demona again," I called out to Burnett.

"On the contrary, Detective Maza," he countered, not even looking at me. "Mr. Xanatos has had no contact with Demona for some time."

My lividity increased as I approached the stoic butler. "Demona and some hired muscle tried to kill the gargoyles. They almost got Angela. I _know_ Xanatos is involved."

"Mr. Xanatos bears the gargoyles no animosity," Burnett countered again and _still_ had not looked at me while he took inventory. "In fact, he feels a debt of gratitude to Goliath for helping him to save his son."

"Gee, I wonder why I don't believe you." Because Burnett was a goddamn trickster, that was why.

"What you believe is your own affair, Detective," he answered.

It was a twisted game of Stratego interrogating this disrespectful imp. I was so annoyed that I uncrossed my arms and walked away.

"If there's any way that either of us can be of assistance?" Pucknett offered.

"No, thanks," My mercury bubbled to the top. "I've had enough 'help' from Xanatos to last me a lifetime."

I was ready to beat down that creep with his own stone fist, so I quickly returned to where Jason crouched near the damaged door.

"Elisa, look," he called me over and pointed to claw marks etched into the metal. "Ever seen anything like this?"

"Can't say that I have." I really couldn't, despite the fact I'd seen it every single day for the past couple years.

"They look like…claw marks, but what could be strong enough to leave claw marks in solid steel?"

"Any number of this city's oddities, Jason," I answered with the hope he'd recall the stories I told him yesterday.

"Well, hot damn. Guess that leaves us with a suspect cornucopia," he said while he rose, and seemed contented. "So who inside were you questioning?"

"No one who can help us." I sure hoped he hadn't heard details from my loud mouth.

While we returned to the car, my partially-charged-from-lighter-jack phone suddenly rang. I answered and Assistant Deputy Warden Benjamin Riazzi of Riker's Island identified himself.

"We have been trying to contact you all evening," he said.

I apologized and explained to him my schedule difference. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"I'm so sorry to tell you this, but Selwyn Baker is going to be arraigned later today for allegedly shooting and killing his wife," he announced. "He's been repeatedly asking for you ever since he was brought in last night, Detective."

The world surrounding me suddenly voided out and I'd become silent and still for God knows how long.

My soul collapsed in on itself and left a proverbial black hole.

Retired Sergeant Selwyn Baker, my mentor and friend from the NYPD Academy, allegedly shot and killed his wife of thirty years.

"Detective Maza, you still there?" Riazzi tried to break the defense mechanism I underwent.

"Elisa, what is it?" Jason saw my rigidity.

This was when I learned:

When it rains, it pours molten…fucking…lava.

**END ACT V**


	6. Act VI

_**ACT VI**_

I, Elisa Maza, thought I knew everything about my mentor. Guess I was in error.

Selwyn Aloysius Baker, retired Police Sergeant of the New York City Police Department, taught in the Administration of Justice Program at John Jay College since 1995. He graduated both the prestigious FBI National Academy in Quantico, Virginia, and the Law Enforcement Supervisory Leadership Institute at the New York Commission on Peace Officers Standards & Training in Manhattan.

Educationally, Selwyn had a Masters Degree in Public Administration (Criminal Justice) from the College of Notre Dame in Belmont, a Bachelor of Arts Degree in Public Service (Criminal Justice) ESU, and an Associate of Arts Degree and Criminal Justice Certificate. He held a Manhattan Community Colleges Lifetime Teaching Credential and instructed at the local law enforcement agency level for most of his police career.

During his thirty-three year-long career, Sel worked as a supervisor in the Patrol, Detective, Community/Juvenile, and Training/Recruitment divisions. He was the team leader of the Hostage Negotiations Unit, the Gang Intelligence Unit, and the Street Crimes Suppression Unit. His final assignment before retiring was Patrol Supervisor on the day shift. Patrol was always his favorite.

Sel received over 25 police commendations, 125 citizen commendations, and several commendations from both the New York State Senate and the New York State Assembly. He had been the National Exchange Club's Officer of the Year, and was New York City's first recipient of the Yogi Berra Award for work attendance.

After enlisting in the Army Military Police Corps in 1967, Sel served in Germany, Vietnam, and the Presidio. He joined the New York City Police Department in 1969 and won top honors by graduating first in his class at the Police Academy. In 1974, he was promoted to Detective and then to Sergeant.

I thoroughly knew his biography because he'd become almost as close to me as my real father. On my first Recruit Training day at the Academy, he took me under his wing and never rescinded his assistance. Whenever I fouled up on a drill he yelled at me to get better. When I wavered on morality, he was my compass.

He invited my family over every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and July Fourth; more often than not, we accepted. His lovely wife Ellie was one of the sweetest women I had ever had the good fortune to break bread with.

Selwyn Baker: the second wisest cop (Dad being the first) I had ever known; my tutor, my detractor, my nemesis, my supporter, and a key inspiration for my career.

But now, allegedly, nothing more than a cold-blooded killer.

"I'll be right there," I answered the Deputy, tossed the phone on my seat and assumed the position on my car door, arms extended. I was practically asphyxiated.

"Elisa, please talk to me!" Jason rushed over to my side and placed his hand on my shoulder. "What happened?"

"We…we have to get to Rikers," My voice barely left my mouth. "My mentor, he may have done something horrible, and he's asking for me."

"What about this case?"

My blood boiled and I saw through a yellow, incendiary haze. I snapped my head up to swiftly face the temp. "I'll put it on the **motherfucking pile**! Now, are you with me or not?"

"Elisa, I am one hundred percent on your side," Jason held up his hands to block my sticks and stones. "You want to visit your friend at Rikers? That is precisely what we do."

Oh, Christ. What was wrong with me? I shouldn't have screamed at Jason. He'd have no clue what Selwyn meant to me, to my career. But I couldn't even muster an apology. I'd devolved into the primordial ooze of human ancestry.

Jason reached into my jacket pocket to remove my car keys; anyone else any other time I'd pulverize their bones. He escorted me over to the passenger side, opened the door and let me sit. I fixated on the floorboards while he veered around to the driver side, sat in and programmed the GPS to locate Rikers. He pulled away from the garage and drove us toward the world-famous prison.

The city appeared far less quaint on this particular trip: a man in an Armani suit screamed into his cell phone, a few female tourists cried to a beat cop, probably because they were pickpocketed, and a beggar with a makeshift sign sat on the sidewalk, cup in lap. It took just over thirty minutes for the city to roll in the mud after it woke up, and I was in the crux of the filth. I massaged my temples again, a repeat habit due to stress, nerves or simply being upset; still hadn't helped.

At a stop light, Jason still had not addressed me, which was a wise choice, but had looked at me in concern. However, the longer- than-expected travel eased me out of my vegetative state. While we crossed the Rikers Island Bridge, I faced Jason for the first time since my histrionics of many minutes ago. When I was very deep in the bottomless pit of sorrow, he reeled me in. I _would_ thank him for that, but first things first.

"Lend me your I-Phone, please," I asked of Jason, for there was a video I needed to locate rather quickly. He immediately handed it over.

Having parked and exited the car, Jason and I went to the checkpoint where Assistant Deputy Warden Riazzi and we went through introductions and weapons submittal. A short, stocky, lightly balding gentleman in his late 40s, but authoritative and imposing, he took us through the prison halls. I hadn't engaged in any small talk with the Warden. I reserved all of my conversation for my friend, who was accused of murdering another of my friends.

"He's on suicide watch," the warden matter-of-factly mentioned.

The three of us were led by a corrections officer towards a section of the prison set aside for police officers accused of committing crimes and held before arraignment; not quite solitary confinement and not quite gen-pop, but no officer would be allowed near hardened criminals, especially not one of Selwyn Baker's status.

It was an arduous walk for me to where Selwyn was incarcerated. Jason strode beside me, but as I approached the opening door to the cell, I stopped.

"Detective Maza?" Riazzi whispered.

I froze again; regressed to the scared, timid teenage-girl from yesterday. How could I _not_ have regressed with the near-loss of Angela and possible loss of a career-long advisor? I turned my back to the door and fought off nausea.

"Jason, I…I can't go through with this," I said without looking at him.

"You can." Jason said while affixing his line of sight to my own, a move that invigorated my absent resolve.

We followed our original destination. Inside on the cot sat Selwyn Baker, a white male in his late 60s with a head of white hair, clad in an orange jumpsuit. The lighting was dim while Sel stretched across the cot. Jason and I passed through doorway and entered the cell. The door shut behind us.

"Hello, Sel," I called out after hesitating.

Sel rustled, sat upright, rubbed his eyes and looked up, for the moment unaware of my trainee's presence. He then seemed surprised. "Elisa, you came?"

"I got the news late. Day shift," I admitted, and then gestured to Jason. "This is my new partner."

He visually, suspiciously scrutinized Jason, and then returned his sights back to me. "This guy doesn't look like a cop at all."

"With all due respect, sir," Jason replied with moderate defense. "Neither do you."

But my eyes silently disciplined Jason, and I jutted my head as a request for him to leave. Jason got the wordless message, called for the guard, then the door slid open and he exited, leaving me and my mentor alone in a dimly lit cell. Sel rose, motioned toward me, arms spread to hug. I extended my right arm, palm out, to prevent him. His dejection was clear, as was his comprehension.

"Please, sit down, Sel," I ordered. While he did so, _I_ walked in closer. Again, I waited a few beats before conjuring words. "Did you contact your P.B.A. attorney?"

"It doesn't really matter, Elisa," he said. "I'm pleading guilty."

Well, I'd just joined the ranks of those hit by a ton of bricks.

"You're…going to plead guilty?" I asked and wished I dreamt hearing that.

"Tessie asked me to take out the garbage," Sel used his wife's name and folded his hands in his lap. "She thought it was piling up a little too high. The smell wasn't really that bad. I figured a little Febreeze would disguise it. But today was trash day, y'know?"

I did know Tessie liked to be clean, neat and tidy. She insisted on us using coasters when we drank, for example.

"She wasn't even nagging me about it, Elisa. She didn't repeat her request ad nauseam. She let it be. But me, I didn't think the trash needed to be taken out. I knew she would eventually ask me again."

Sel cleared his throat before rubbing his eyes again. "I went to my closet to look at my old service revolver. I cleaned it, because I hadn't used it in years. In fact, I don't think I ever once fired my weapon on duty."

"Never once," I confirmed; was always proud of him for that achievement.

But the colors in his face considerably seeped away. "I had ammunition, and I loaded it. Tessie was washing dishes in the kitchen. I just walked up to her and emptied…emptied it…."

My ears were stabbed by his confession. My heart was wrenched from my chest then diced up for gumbo. My brain may well have been passed through a wood chipper.

"Were…were you drunk?" I asked.

He shook his head in the negative. We both knew he neither imbibed in alcohol, drugs nor cigarettes, but I still recited a long list of drugs, which he also denied ingestion.

"Your health is it…" I desperately tried to find a loophole.

"Got both a physical and psych evaluation just last week, Elisa," he said. "I'm in perfect mental and physical health. I didn't snap."

He did it. He took the life of his spouse. God fucking damn you, Sel.

"Why…why _Tessie_?" My question came out all raspy, as if I'd gargled sand.

He hadn't moved a muscle since he started the confession, having exhibited the traits of a mannequin. It took him nearly forever to answer my simple question.

"**Why**?" I barked, still raspy. But it shook his rigidity loose as he looked up at me.

"I was pretending," he admitted. "All these years I was pretending to be something I wasn't."

"No…that _can't_ be true," I said it more for myself than him.

"Elisa, _everything_ about me is one big evidential falsification." He said convincingly.

I had nearly bled my hands with my fingernails, my fist was so tightened. While there was very little else I could say, I had something else prepared. "The speech you gave at my Academy graduation; I remembered all of it."

For a hot second he seemed relieved when I mentioned that; as if his life were validated.

"You do?"

Verbatim. But I had my favorite section cued up from a video I tracked down on Jason's phone and played it back for us both: "_Here and now aren't just a couple of random adverbs, they comprise something that defines your life. When you finally hit those streets, you will discover evil, _evil_ people. They're thinking about you right this second, folks. They already know you. They already hate you. But, do not worry about them here and now. Do not transform a damn thing about yourself as a preemptive strike. If you do, those evil ones have already beaten you. Stay true to yourself and you can be the…_"

"…best damn cops in this city." Sel finished simultaneously with his own recorded voice

I stopped the video, because those words currently seemed hollow, meaningless, pointless. His career was chipped paint that exposed the old wall underneath it, and it was ugly. The man himself showed neither remorse nor guilt, but neither did he show pride or prejudice. Selwyn Baker was no longer my mentor; no longer my friend.

Selwyn Baker was a monster.

"You've had thousands, of students, Sel_. Thousands_! Why the hell did you choose _me_ as your protégé?" If he'd say because he was in love with me, I would beat the shit of him right here.

"I saw how dark you could have easily become," he answered just as I completed the question. "You were a smart, young, _incomplete_ cadet. The light was always within you, but you never let it shine. Instead, you shadowed it by trying to be this hard-case. You are more angelic than you ever give yourself credit for, Elisa. You were hiding from your true purpose and hiding from your true calling, and…hiding from yourself."

Absurd, hypocritical words that amounted to bullshit.

"And what the hell did you want from me _today_?" I asked, with the same expectation of that in-love-with-me answer.

"It's these past couple of years," Sel continued. "You're _definitely_ hiding something, Elisa. Whatever it is, don't let the effort consume you. You've got to release your feelings."

"Oh,_ that's_ sage advice," I sarcastically added through clenched teeth. "Why, Sel? So I can become a murderer like _you_ just did?

"I nurtured your career because I always knew what_ I_ was. I didn't want you to be _anything_ like me."

I headed toward the door and alerted the guard.

"And please, watch out for that new partner of yours," he continued. "The boy is definitely not what he appears to be."

The door opened, but I paused, yet not looked back. "Good bye, Selwyn."

Then I exited the cell. In the hall, Jason spoke to Warden Riazzi. I walked past both of them and got the hell outta Dodge. Nothing made sense anymore. All who I wanted to speak to was Goliath, but even if he wasn't stone asleep, he had his own troubles. Mom was still in Africa. Dad and Beth were still in Arizona. Matt was busy.

Alone again, naturally.

Outdoors, I stood by my car, having not even realized when or how I got there. But suddenly, Jason cautiously approached me.

"Your weapon," Jason announced seemingly non sequitur.

I touched my holster which was lighter than usual. I saw him holding my gun by its barrel. My carelessness on the job perpetuated, but Jason was right there to pick up the slack. He continued his slow walk towards me and handed it over. I holstered it and tittered. "Let's get back to work," I monotonically said. "And you can still drive. You've earned it."

Sel was wrong: Jason was a superb partner and a sensational friend.

Looks like I wasn't alone after all.

_**END ACT VI**_


	7. Act VII

_**ACT VII**_

I, Elisa Maza, hated Mondays, and Garfield ain't got shit on me today.

I was privy to the abject horrors of corrupt police officers, and the many who abused, tortured or yes, killed their significant others. These repulsive cops comprised a plague to the system. And we, as intelligent beings, knew a plague was a huge thing. But when I first knew Selwyn Baker, if you suspected he'd end up a part of such a widespread disease, I'd say you were out of your gourd.

But what would you do if your career-long advisor shot his poor wife to death on a whim? Where would you go when you learned that your career was furnished by a falsehood? Well, no pint of Haagen-Dazs of any flavor would be able answer either queries.

Hadn't expected this morning's double whammy, but with trainee Jason Conover as my satellite, my composure was necessary to bolster his conformity. And, despite what I endured these past thirty-six hours, I was _still_ in love with the man! I guess that was what kept me minimally grounded.

"I suppose bartering isn't one of my strengths," was his left-field self-evaluation while he drove.

Then I got what he hinted at. He retrieved my gun from the checkpoint, but I had not returned his I-Phone. I tucked it into his jacket.

"Would it be intrusive to ask what you wanted to find?" was the temp's reasonable inquiry.

"What I wanted to find just ended up being a lie, Jason," But I loathed being vague. "Let's stop a minute, 'kay?"

He pulled over at the corner of Ditmars and Steinway. We entered a tiny park, devoid of people, but populated by sparrows, squirrels and trees with partial greenery. Their branches swayed from the light breeze. For me, this atmosphere recalled the tranquility of Avalon's stop at the rain forest with Goliath, Angela, and Bronx. Only…they weren't here, were they?

But Jason, my partner, was here. So I chose to reveal my history with Sel, Sel's confession, and Sel's opinion of me and Jason. Only the wildlife were around to listen. Well, okay, that was no discretionary guarantee, either, but I took my chances.

"Elisa, I-I'm not…exactly sure how to react," he seemed awfully flustered, couldn't blame him. "What…what are _you_ going to do?"

Another great question with a litany of options: perhaps I'd quit my bogus job, return to Avalon and help protect an endangered species. Or I'd quit my bogus job, marry Jason and fulfill my fantasy of being a wife and potential mother. Or I'd quit my bogus job and walk the Earth like Caine in _Kung Fu_.

"Quit my bogus job." Well, after such boggled rumination, that settled that. "I mean what other option is there?"

"Anything but your rash one," Jason opined.

"It's not at all rash," I denied, because Sel actually was right about my keeping secrets, hiding something. I sat on a nearby bench, crossed my arms over my lap and my hair veiled my face. "In five minutes, _five…minutes_, that evil bastard redefined my career!"

"Sounds more like defined it perfectly," for some reason Jason corrected me while he sat to my left.

I looked at him; hadn't expected that. "I don't und- wait, you _agree _with his assessment?"

"You're not just a great cop; you're an _astounding_ human being!" He clarified. "You had the benefit of family, friends, colleagues, and even a good mentor."

Well, the temp had me until 'good mentor.' I tossed up my hands in continued disgust, and turned away. "Selwyn…is…a _monster_!"

"He did the horrid and unforgivable and should pay," Jason emphatically clarified with a karate-chop at air. "Have an urge to copycat?"

"Sel bided his time before his primal urges destroyed his wife. How the hell should I know?" I loudly said, but then I silenced myself for a moment. "No, I'd _never_ let something like that happen to _anyone_ I care about; not _now_, not at _any_ point in my lifetime! It's not in me to even _dream_ like that, Jason!"

"Well, now, _that_ sounds like you're on the right track," He rested his right hand on my back. "Sergeant Baker sounded like he didn't teach you how to be good. He taught you how not to be evil."

Jason was right. Damn it all, this explained so much, especially with my acting, the roles I picked. Come on, the Wicked Witch of the West? Every decent person kinda liked to be the bad guy. That's why Bad-Sally and Mirror Universe Elisa were such a rush for me, because I knew I could never, _ever_ resemble either of them. Still, I couldn't help but be counterproductive.

"Still won't resurrect Tessie Baker."

"We'll mourn over the loss of a loved one, Elisa, but we cannot repair the world," Jason assured. "What we can do is _shape_ it by continuing to save others, and the thousands whom you've saved in your career would probably repeat what I just said."

Fresh on my memory was my resuscitation of Angela over two hours ago. I wasn't only a cop going through the motions. I wasn't going to cease until I heard my niece breathe, and I was elated that she survived. Goliath praised me, not for being a cop at the right place and time, but just for being myself.

And now I've got Jason talking me down from the ledge. My left hand suspended in mid-air before it patted his right thigh. "You figured me in two days, huh, temp?"

"Maybe I'm just adept at stating the obvious."

Creed be damned again, I nestled into him and rested my head on his shoulder. I may still have had doubts about my career, but I was most certain about where life would take me.

We needed to resume work, though I wanted to remain in my current position. We stood and faced each other. I caved in twice when I hopped toward him and tightly hugged him around his waist. After a delay on his part, Jason eventually surrounded me with his huge arms. I hadn't given a damn if either A.D.A. Margot Yale or TMZ or Pope Benedict XVI saw us. At the moment, this just felt right.

"I'm…so glad you're here, Jason."

But _then_ I hit the caved-in _trifecta_ when I stood on my toes and brushed my lips across his right cheek. "Thank you," was my careful, _careful_ whisper into his ear. Jason turned a shade of beet red before I walked back to my curb-parked Bayonetta.

Unlike yesterday, we stayed busy: We arrested a pimp who publicly beat up a teenage prostitute. We helped a church find out a homeless veteran pilfered food from their pantry. We set straight a would-be juvenile shoplifter. The activity was like being a beat cop all over again. But even through Jason's kind encouragements, my satisfaction lessened.

We also slightly touched on the DI7 case that proved to be difficult. I knew Demona was the culprit. She bought up several floors of a Bronx (the borough) building and started a legitimate company, Destine Industries. So busting her human form would prove fruitless. Now while I _really_ wanted to investigate and arrest David Xanatos again, the word of his flunky Owen Burnett indeed had credence.

But that was all, folks. Though the rest of the day went by rather quickly, by the time Jason and I returned to the 23rd it was dark outside. For some reason this brought something to my full attention. Ever since the gargoyles, twelve hours seemed to pass as quickly as twelve seconds. Sunrises and sunsets were at the most unusual intervals. I expected to see claw rips in the space-time continuum to skip ahead in the story of our life.

I'd hoped to run into Matt who may have had intel on the Hunters who nearly eliminated my friends. But his shift wouldn't start until later, so I called and texted him with no answer from either. Jason separated from me to run quick errand, perfect because I may have missed how Angela recovered.

I climbed the stairwell and ladder and poked my head through the opening to the sanctuary. "Goliath? Angela? Anybody?" No response, I sharply exhaled. "Terrific."

At least Angela was well and I hoped she'd crush those goddamn Hunters. Hell, had the gargoyles asked me to come along, I'd sacrifice a _week's _sleep to help. Those people may not get charged with attempted murder, but since they very likely had a cache of unregistered weapons, at least we could bust their asses on that charge.

I was exhausted once again, though too much on my mind would allow sleep. Maybe I'd release my aggression and tire myself out at the gym. After I punched out, turned in my radio, and slowly walked down the steps to my car outside, on the street, Jason jogged up to me.

"Any word on your friend?" I believe he referred to Angela as he placed his hand on my shoulder.

"I think a good night's sleep helped." Oh, good one, Maza. Bed rest miraculously cured my friend who almost _died_ from an _assault._ Damn it,I was getting sick of my white lies.

"And are _you_ all right?" Jason asked.

"Sure," I still didn't want to be misconstrued as weak, so I detached from his light grip while I opened the door. "Don't worry about me. I'm a rock."

"Okay," he emoted both satisfaction and disheartenment. "Well…see you later."

No. It was unjust to dismiss him that way. Jason saved me. Besides, we were both off duty, and we could let freedom ring. He was a few meters away before I reached out to him. "Hey!" My larynx struggled to crank out the question. "You want to have dinner?"

And there was his billion-dollar, gleaming smile that started it all. His return stroll to the passenger side was a sight to behold. And that's when I made yet another important decision.

"Do you have any place in mind?" Jason inquired.

Oh, absolutely, I did: home. I couldn't see why not.

The silence in our drive home was almost the same when he first sat in my car, plus more pronounced gestures and glances, as we were past the flirtation stage. We pulled up to my apartment complex. "Doesn't look like a restaurant to me," was Jason's wink-wink observation.

"It's my building of residence, you dope," was my faux admonishment. "Come with."

After we exited my car, I walked over to him, and slid my arm under his to walk arm-in-arm toward the foyer. I interlocked with him until we reached my door, and then we entered my spacious apartment.

"Hope you don't mind," I started as Jason closed the door behind us, "I just wasn't up to a crowded restaurant."

"Not a problem," he responded. "Believe me."

"Besides, I've got one of the best stocked refrigerators on the East Coast," I boasted. "With friends like mine it's safer." But God, Matt was right about my lame inside jokes. Good thing Jason hadn't gotten it.

My little gray feline, standoffish around new people, reared his furry head_,_ and warmed up to Jason instantaneously. "Well, who's this friendly guy?" Jason asked while he picked up the narcoleptic cat.

I strolled forward up to both of them and pet the cat. "This is Cagney," I calmly introduced, and then looked up at Jason. "He seems to like you."

"Yeah," Jason involuntarily or voluntarily leaned forward.

"Here, I-I'll take him." For some strange reason I caught a bout of shyness before I held Cagney like a baby and transported him to the living room. But I made a mental note to buy catnip for my not-so-pea-brained pet who I set down on an ottoman.

I heard Jason followed, and knew this was about to be the moment we both wanted. Though neither of us vocally proclaimed it, we proved through many means that we were in love with each other. Having established that, we also _needed_ this. We both needed to forget for a while. We both needed no responsibility if even for a few hours.

Jason was directly behind me and spun me like a puppet to gift me the visual of his beauty. His hands clamped on my arms, he closed his eyes, slid his hands up to my neck and eased me toward him. My eyes closed before Jason's lips pressed against and easily parted my own. Once his tongue met mine, their synchronous movement sent tingles over every square inch of me. It tasted perfect. It felt perfect. The woman I was accepted this stimulation as an early Christmas gift.

I ran my fingers through his short black hair, blazing a trail for my arms to encircle his neck while Jason then brought his arms down and vice-gripped the arch of my back. After a few seconds, our breathing increased tenfold, our bodies pushed together and I forced my lips and tongue even harder against his. When Jason mimicked my aggressive approach to kissing him, my lips underwent a pleasurable soreness.

Jason and I were two lost souls immersed in an amorous, love-struck foray. After numerous more seconds, Jason's…turgid excitement, encumbered by his pants, alerted me. The abrasive nature of our clothed lovemaking was electrifying, but still hindered, because I wanted him inside me. His left hand slipped under my jacket and shirt, his touch warmed the sensitive skin of my lower back…and then…I…

I sensed something; a presence I've not felt since…

"Wait! We shouldn't," _I_ was the one who said those three words. Then I pushed away from him, closed my eyes and held myself as if my house suddenly transformed into a freezer, though my depressurized lips still tingled.

"What's wrong?" Jason sounded minutely pissed off.

I wondered that, too, while I tried to keep warm from the phantom freeze and tersely sighed. "Well, for one thing, we're partners."

"Temporarily," Jason amended, and he approached me with a light embrace. "In a week you'll be back on day shift with Bluestone."

Jason was correct. I just hadn't wanted him to touch me again and distanced myself from him even farther. But why? He and I were _just_ buriedin the throes of passion and I was no tease. And for me, this was to be the precursor to my future. Why in the name of God would I opt out so abruptly?

"There's someone else," Jason answered as if he were psychic.

"Yes," was my prolonged enunciation. My eyes reopened while my hands clasped behind my tense neck. "No. Not really." I cut off my own vision again and let out a protracted sigh, as if my brain deflated. "I mean...there's someone I care for deeply. But it would be impossible to get involved with him."

Oh, my heavens. Goliath… I was…talking about _Goliath_!

Both of us shut our traps and allowed this to sink in for about ten seconds. It wasn't the previously enjoyable, uncomfortable silence that Jason and I shared. I was uncertain if Jason was either hurt or angry or both. But even as he was prepped for a romantic endeavor with me here in my apartment, my mind suddenly saw him as an Alka Seltzer pellet to be dissolved. There was some guilt on my end over that, given what he'd said and done to help me.

But…Goliath?

"Guess I got a little carried away," Jason calmly broke the silence. "S-sorry about that."

_He_ apologized, which stunned me, considering _I _led him on.

"It's just that…there hasn't been anyone for me for a long time," I faced Jason in his mid-sentence, as I heard the prominence of his angst again. His head was bowed with closed eyes when he paused, and then he reopened them and raised his head. "You think you're used to it."

He jutted his head as if his loneliness slapped him, and my guilt continued.

"Well, bad timing," Jason declared. "I'll go now."

The temp slowly walked towards my door, hands in pockets. I reached out to him again to call him back as I did in front of the precinct. My hand retracted and I went completely mute. It wasn't going to happen this time. The door clicked shut and I plopped down on my living room stoop with considerably diminished love for Jason Conover.

It all happened, all _changed _so quickly. The differentiation between rights and wrongs was muddled and this was just…overwhelming.

It wasn't very long after I sat on the stoop when my chest burned as if I swallowed lit matches that stayed ablaze in my esophagus. My throat also pained as my eyes welled up with tears. My teeth clenched as I begun intermittent, abbreviated bawls. A salty waterfall streamed down my cheeks and I convulsed on each sob.

This continued for a legion of minutes until I shifted myself onto the flatter area of my floor and curled up in a fetal position. I haven't excessively wept like this before in anger, sadness or otherwise. No, this was more or less me being a dormant volcano. It was the last few days' worth of embroilment, emotional inundation, and sudden disappointmentthat caused my eruption.

While I laid on my wooden floor, non-dried tears glazing my cheeks and eyes, Cagney pattered up to me and affectionately rubbed against me. Now I knew why cats and dogs are often used in health therapy, and boy, was I afflicted. My calm enhanced, I stood up from where I laid, found my bearings and went to clean up. En route to the bathroom, I saw on the clock that a half-hour passed since I entered the door. Wow, it seemed like half-century. What had I said about the passage of time?

So now, I needed to move forward. And here was what I must do: I needed to go to Captain Chavez immediately and lie to her (damn it) that Jason and I weren't clicking as partners. Of course, she'd see its transparency and would likely suspend me without pay. But I _had_ to know where my affections truly were, because it was unacceptable for it to further interfere with my already dubious job.

After I washed up, Lexington's text message ringtone suddenly signaled me. I rushed over and picked up the phone to read the electronic text: "found hunters, goliath & demona may have killed 2 of them"

Oh, no. Goliath…_no_. Not you and Demona.

I tapped the keys of my Blackberry and sent: "where is he"

A second later from Lex: "on way home; I landed for 1 sec, gotta go"

Well, I already used the raining and pouring of lava analogy, but I sure neglected how much earth scorching would result.

_**END ACT VII**_


	8. Act VIII

_**ACT VIII**_

I, Elisa Maza, still could not elude the Margot Yale domino effect. God damn it.

Goliath's blood lust was sated when tragedy struck him personally. I knew this because during our hundreds upon hundreds of adventures and missions together, it only happened twice: when Goliath nearly dropped David Xanatos from a skyscraper, and when he almost eviscerated Anthony Dracon. Granted, I could only merely imagine the hell in which he was immersed when his ancient Scotland clan was slaughtered.

Here was something I couldn't understand: how he could just kill a man. Goliath was a tactical genius, and a pure, honorable warrior, yet acted so reckless. I thought he knew better and I sure as hell thought I taught him better. So, I called Lexington following his second text.

"Yes, Elisa?" The gargoyle youth answered after a few rings. "Not really supposed to talk on my phone and glide."

"Why the hell were they working together?" I asked about the Goliath/Demona pairing. "And are the hunters dead or not?"

"Well, Demona was in the vicinity," he described with hopelessness in his diction. "After Goliath said the Hunters almost killed Angela, she and he...just...clicked."

Jalapeña, 'clicked' was hardly the verb I needed to hear! _And _if the hunters were now corpses, and the cause was made public, no person would give a shit that Goliath was Father of the Year. Pitchforks and torches would be the least of his worries. Lexington sighed before he continued.

"The Hunters were flung against the wall with such an impact that the wiring electrocuted them. We didn't stay around to check pulses, but I knew electricity is a tricky weapon." Lexington explained.

"So, had you mentioned that to Goliath?" I said as I paced my floor, re-energized.

"Negative, he even let Demona go free. The lead Hunter is next on his hit list," he still sounded despondent. "We…don't know what came over him, Elisa."

"I'm going to find out, Lex," I said with determination. "I'll be there in a little while. Text me when you're home."

I hung up, left my place, and stormed down the stairs. Goliath 'clicked' with _Demona_? Sure, after his bond to Angela was nearly severed, Goliath had _every right_ to be vengeful, but _without_ Demona's exacerbating hatred.

I hopped into my car, called Matt, whose lack of updates on the Hunters slightly perturbed me, left a message on his damnable voice mail, "It's Elisa. Some possible changes in the Hunters situation; please…_call_…me," and then I peeled out to the 23rd.

Was this to be my first major confrontation with Big Guy? Condemning his defense of family would be inappropriate, but despite my emergent affections for him, I just wouldn't condone his means. I _prayed_ Goliath had not sped past the point of no return, for his stringent gargoyle justice would be synonymous with vigilantism; or worse, if Goliath had become like either Demona or Selwyn Baker….

God help me, I hoped the Hunters lived.

I actually eked out this silly pondering during my travel to the 23rd. Some time later, I parked in my usual space, stepped out of my car and while I trudged up the stairs introspectively admired the building. Damn, this place was huge. Was this gonna be my final day here?

My police-band radio got my attention when it crackled unusually boisterous static, something I never heard it do, but the tech guys would repair it. Right now, I inhaled and exhaled before the zillionth life-altering decision of my disfigured, twisted weekend. As I passed through the hallowed halls, a sky-blue-suited-Captain Maria Chavez just exited her office.

"Maza, your shift ended an hour ago," she flatly greeted me. "What are you still doing here?"

Well, was it time for telling the truth or perpetuating the lies? I did intend to talk to Chavez before Lexington's messages, but now… "Looking for Matt, he doesn't answer my calls or texts," At least, that was partially true.

"You already forgot what time he checks in, huh?" She answered, leaned in and closely analyzed me. "God damn, you look like dog crap run over by a Mack Truck at ninety miles per hour."

Didn't bother checking in a mirror but I guess I should have cared a little about my appearance. "New schedule, fatigue," was my fragmented excuse.

"Bullshit. You've been crying," my boss challenged, and for the second instance in two days, Chavez gave me 'the look.' "Is there something you need to…_tell_ me, Maza?"

So Chavez saw right through me, exactly as Jason did this morning. Christ, everybody was better at detecting than I was lately. That was the final straw. I then got a text from Lexington: "home"

"There is, but not at the moment." I wasn't trying to be insubordinate to Chavez, but since Goliath was my priority, I turned away.

A split second after I aimed myself at the clock tower stairway, a deafening explosion resonated from above. Quakes throughout the building knocked me and everyone else off balance, whether seated or standing. Our danger alarms clanged while the walls cracked and crumbled. Chunks of weighty debris and other heavy items cannonballed down. Desks were bifurcated by falling girders. Lights popped and sparked around those fleeing. Windows and display glass shattered, propelling shards at a deadly velocity. Smoke, dust, and cinder pervaded almost the entirety of the precinct.

It was a war zone.

Everyone and everything seemed to move in slow-motion. Even our most seasoned officers ran for their lives, but they still did not discriminate against anyone in danger. I overheard a man shout that this was 9/11 all over again. While my eyes stung from the affected air, I also thought-uh, again-that I would die, but at least I'd die also trying to save someone.

The ceiling defecated metal, wood and stone. One of the pieces must have struck Captain Chavez, who hollered in pain. Before I could assist, we heard an ear-piercing, high-pitched whirring. I spun around and saw a costumed man, wearing a full face mask with red slash marks across it, high-speeding a hoverbike toward us.

I was too slow to dodge his right arm, for he scooped me up and tossed me across his lap. I yelped and was disoriented when he zipped back and forth in the cramped space, also dodging the deadly rain of debris. Crocodile tears streaked across my eyes due to the artificially produced wind and air pollution. Exactly like a roller coaster, except it was remotely fun.

We popped through the front door, which was smashed open by either the explosions or him, and ascended high until we passed the top of the precinct building. I leaned over his right shoulder and saw the clock tower enflamed, gutted, burned, smoldering…completely obliterated.

The gargoyles…**NO**!

Some clarity remained for me to add two plus two. This man who 'saved' me was a Hunter, and he'd just annihilated the gargoyles. I let out my two-zillionth gasp of the weekend.

"What have you _done_?_" _I asked this fucker, but first I had to know who he was. I leaned up and grunted while I yanked off the full-face mas-

"_**Jason**_**?"** I whispered a scream, screamed a whisper. Once again, my world disintegrated, and my soul remained in the depths of Hades. I had nothing in me to emote.

The man I thought I was so in love with was no officer of the law, but a supervillain.

"I'll explain later," Wait, that was Jason's voice? "I promise." Was that a Scottish accent?

Suddenly, hard glass pressed against my inner thigh and a millisecond later everything went blurry. I wanted my mom. Jason sounded like Shrek. Tractors pickled the Somerset Patriots for sacroiliac Zappa...

_**END ACT VIII**_


	9. Act IX

_**ACT IX**_

I, Elisa Maza, smelled the acridity of ammonia. I coughed and pushed myself away from the stench.

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa_!" Was that Matt Bluestone whoa-ing me? "It's me, Partner! You're safe!"

It sure sounded like him, but my hearing felt like Silly Putty was jammed in my ear canals. My sight was clouded as if I wore contact lenses made from Vaseline. Then my elbows and knees stung with pain, because I had not noticed I was in my fucking _apartment_, in my _bedroom_, atop my _bed_ that I just fell off!

"Oh, Christ!" Matt called out, discernible only because he must have moved in closer. "Elisa, you moved so fast. Are you okay?"

"I-I don't know," given the fact I was Helen Keller Jr. at the moment.

"You're going to a hospital," he sounded off. "I couldn't wake you without an ammonia inhalant from your first aid kit."

That son of a bitch Jason Conover doped me up, dumped me in my home like a cheap, drunken prom date, and…oh no, oh God, oh my _God_! Okay…my pants were tightly zipped, but my jacket was off… A surge of adrenalin leapt me up on my feet. "What's the time? The _time!_"

He looked at his watch. "Quarter to four A.M.! After all that happened, you weren't answering your phone, so I stopped by!"

It was…_Tuesday_! I was out for eight, maybe _nine_ hours? "Yes, take me to a hospital, stat," I demanded. Although I saw a red and tan blob, I knew it was my true partner Matt by my side once again. "Jason killed the gargoyles, Matt. He probably killed everyone else in the building, too."

"They made it out alive, Elisa," Matt revealed. "_Everyone_ did."

"Oh, thank God," I heard that well. Relief displaced my grief. "Spill."

"Briefing later, hospital first," Matt correctly answered.

Yeah, I had to get rid of whatever poison flowed through my bloodstream, because I was also nauseous. In three minutes, an ambulance arrived and I chose to lay in the gurney. An intravenous drip and oxygen offered me slight recuperation, but I would not be in the clear just yet in my other medical concern.

After all the…intimacy between us, it was possible that Jason…date raped me. "Tell the staff to prepare a SOEC kit." I said to both the male EMT and Matt, who rode with me the whole time. My partner seemed devastated at the thought.

"Do you really..?" Matt started, but I swayed my right index finger to prevent the rest of his question. Some things were better left unasked and unsaid.

Our travel to Manhattan General Hospital was prioritized for me; officer down, after all. The EMTs hauled me into its antiseptic Emergency Room where a team of doctors and nurses immediately worked on me. One M.D. inquired what chemical was injected. I wasn't sure, but I randomly guessed Ketamine because of both my nausea and partial loss of hearing and sight.

After their appropriate medicinal treatment, and an hour or so, my sight and hearing improved. Then: the SOEC kit.

I'd known of hundreds of female rape victims, few of whom agree to this examination. The rest were either ashamed or embarrassed to undergo a 'second violation.' Now, I finally understood their trepidation, because as this was my first, with all the scraping, swabbing, et cetera, it was psychologically humiliating. Even though being a cop expedites the test results, I'd still have to wait.

But I also_ had_ to know.

Later, there I was, lucid yet weak; sitting fully dressed on a bed in a generic, white-walled hospital room. The physicians suggested I stay a few hours more for observation; had no real quarrel with that idea. I heard a knock on the doorjamb from Matt, who carried a three inches-thick file.

"Long day," Matt calmly said.

"You have no idea," I corrected him.

"Pretty certain I have one or two," He countered, and then paused for a while. "I heard about what Sergeant Baker did."

I said nothing. He walked into the room, shifting the excessive paperwork to his hands.

"Tessie…was a wonderful woman," he said. Matt knew her when I brought him to the cookouts that Selwyn threw on warmer holidays. "I like her very much and I'll miss her equally."

Still hadn't said a word yet. I just wanted to listen.

"So, I do apologize for the communication breakdown," Matt said. "But Goliath's lead snowballed into something...something huge; in fact, larger than any of us."

"That's disquietingly significant, Matt," I sluggishly responded and glared at that sizeable paper stack. So I let him story on.

Once I asked Bluestone to hunt the Hunters, his first stop was the warehouse district where Angela, Goliath, and Hudson were ambushed. He questioned the homeless community, of whom a sizeable portion were alcoholics, drug addicts and mentally challenged. Many saw a ginormous spaceship in the sky that bore a red insignia. Others saw a sea serpent with deep battle wounds. However, Matt was no grains-of-salt accepter with that particular info.

Matt then contacted a reluctant acquaintance employed by the Federal Aviation Administration, who eventually revealed how a few days ago, unorthodox flight patterns were permitted to an unidentified aircraft. Somehow, the F.A.A. brass were given cause to look the other way. It was disarming for Matt and now me, to hear.

Vagrants, shady F.A.A. execs, and maybe even clueless tourists knew about this damn plane. I was compelled to interrupt. "How does the rest of New York City not see it?"

Well, yep, a conspiracy theorist knew no bounds. As a result, Matt contacted _all_ security video surveillance suppliers, including our own, across Manhattan and weaved a thread of consecutive camera blackouts. Apparently, in the last few days, these hundreds of companies had already reported feedback in their cameras' signals, but each disruption lasted mere seconds.

The next question Matt had was, "What kind of technology blocks out video recordings within its radius?"

"Matt, it is your report. You tell me," I grew a tad impatient, only because on the forefront of my mind was a concern of where our winged friends were; neither calls nor texts from Lexington and it wasn't long 'til sunrise. Yet hearing how Matt went through so much trouble for me made me swallow any further impatience.

There weren't many intelligent enough U.S. industrialists capable of such technology. However, there was Mr. Anthony Stark, a weapons designer on a smaller scale despite his company's recent restructuring. Surprisingly to me, Matt scored an interview with the extraordinarily busy Mr. Stark.

Stark developed a mini-electromagnetic pulse device, the Micro-EMP, for covert, military operatives in the United States, England, Ireland and Scotland. It exclusively affected video and radio waves, explaining why my own radio went wonky. The reason for such a high demand: harmless to humans. As Stark was a frequent theft victim, he made certain that had someone taken this one, he'd know.

So like clockwork, somebody stole it. The Scottish government reported an illegal upload of the specs for the Micro-EMP, an impossible feat without inside assistance.

"Conover had a Scottish accent," I chimed in and then I looked up at Matt, slack jawed. "No. Way."

The Canmores, Jason, Jon and Robyn, the richest family in Scotland, doled out their thousand year-old dollars to achieve their own goals. Those once-adorable children, now grown adults, globally hired designers and manufacturers to produce weapons of mass destruction calibrated to one specific, unrevealed species. Stark refused to assist, hence the theft of the Micro-EMP.

Clearly, they chose New York because of the cumulative gargoyle sightings. Matt had not discovered how or why Jason manipulated his way into our precinct, or especially how Jason ended up becoming my phony-partner and would-be lover. By the time Matt worked his way up to solving that mystery, it was too late.

"Anyway, I know you've been wondering how the gargoyles were alive," Matt finally reached the point.

Matt switched on the in-room TV and flipped the channel to CNN. Its breaking story was that the gargoyles were now public enemy number two, behind Osama Bin Laden. Somehow, clear video of the gargoyles fleeing the destroyed tower was leaked to all major news outlets. Matt said the video even went viral, making it a worldwide fact that they blew up our station. Goliath's glowing eyes and anger was flush to the screen. It didn't matter to the analysts, anchors and reporters that Hudson and Lexington appeared to be badly injured.

That's when it hit me. The Hunters failed to kill them, so they made it so _everyone_ would hunt them by releasing that footage. That was it. The Hunters won. Gargoyles around the world, perhaps even in Japan, no longer had safety and solitude. All it took was _ka-ching ka-ching_.

"We have to stop the Hunters, Matt," I angrily announced. "They're not invincible."

"With their billions, they can very well be _untouchable_," Matt added. "Regardless, they _have_ that Stark-Tech. All the security cameras in the proximity of the precinct house were affected."

My Blackberry beeped, but it was a voice message. Though the battery ran low, Matt closed the door and kept watch while I played it on speaker.

"Elisa! _Elisa!_" It was Brooklyn, sounding strong versus scared. "I think the Hunters tracked us down to the clocktower and blew it all to Hell. Thanks to Lex spotting a tracer on Goliath, we avoided becoming street meat. Lex and Hudson still got hard hit by the aftershock and Lex deactivated the tracer before he passed out. Goliath is scattering the clan to get the scent away from the Hunters. The sewers are our best option. And…I saw footage of us on the I-Phone. We…we're in trouble, Elisa. They're gonna blame us for this so we'll lay very low for the day. One of us will call you when we wake up."

The message's timer read as sent about an hour after the explosion, all while I was out like a broken light bulb.

"Is Chavez all right?" I asked. "I heard her yell before Jason nabbed me."

"She's not well. Her leg was broken," he said. "She's here, actually."

"We still have to see her," I decided. "And we have to tell her the truth, just as we planned two days ago."

I passed on the doctors' observation and we went up two floors to our boss' room. Maria Chavez laid on her hospital bed with her left leg in a cast raised in the stirrups.

"Welcome back to Armageddon," she said angrily.

"Captain," I began. "I'm so sorry this happened to you."

"What the hell are you talking about, Maza?" Chavez asked.

What was I _talking _about? It was my fault for selfishly housing the gargoyles at the precinct so I could conveniently visit them. I'd never have predicted that they'd be tracked there, let alone attacked. Still, I'd have to watch what I say.

"I-I'm just glad you're alive; glad everyone's alive," I 'clarified.'

"Anyway, we've got ourselves new enemies of the state to blame," she declared while gesturing to the muted television.

I grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. B-roll played of the precinct and all of the rescue workers, firefighters and random agencies bandying about. Then a WVRN news reporter appeared on screen standing amidst the chaos. "_This is John Carter with a WVRN Special Report on the destruction of the 23__rd__ Precinct House by the monsters known as gargoyles." _During his voice over, the screen cut to a wide shot of the clan soaring away from the demolished building.

'Monsters?' Well, so much for impartiality. Fuming, I shut off the TV and faced Matt and Chavez. "It wasn't any gargoyles!" Then I looked back at the blank screen. "It was those _Hunters_ and Jason Conover!"

"You mean…" Chavez looked confused, "the guy who saved your life?"

"I mean the guy who _drugged_ me, broke into my apartment and _left _me there unconscious!" I was angrily and physically demonstrative in my description.

"His real name is Jason Canmore, and he's not a cop," Matt reiterated to our boss while he handed her one of the files. "Never was."

She flipped up an attached mug shot of Jason to reveal another photo of a mustached, distinguished man underneath.

"That's his father, Charles Canmore," Matt identified. "Died in Paris under mysterious circumstances sixteen years ago. His three kids have been leaving a trail of violence behind them ever since."

I turned my back to both of them and contemplated. Okay, so Jason was truthful about his father's name, but had someone really killed Charles; maybe a gargoyle? It stood to reason that the Canmores would have gone through such excessive trouble if so. But it couldn't have been one of Clan Manhattan! They were under a mystically-forced slumber in 1994's Scotland! Was it another clan that may have survived, another generation of gargoyles, or...?

Wait, it could easily have been Demona. Immortal, hated humans, total bitch: _that_ added up.

"Can someone…please tell me..." Chavez began, "…how the **FUCK **this happened on my watch!

Hmm, quick rewind; that reporter on screen, why did he look so familiar just now? Okay, he was outside the precinct yesterday morning trying to ask Matt about gargoyles. But that wasn't all. I flashed back to when Jason showed me the family picture with that cherubic, little blonde boy, the one he called Jon.

"Do you realize how far up my ass Internal Affairs is gonna go?" Chavez rambled on.

And then I mentally superimposed that child's face over the WVRN reporter who just called the gargoyles 'monsters.'

"We've got to get to WVRN Studios on the double!" I shouted to the world. "That goddamn reporter is Jon Canmore! _He_ shot the video!"

"Go _get_ that cocksucker," Chavez growled.

Like Starsky and Hutch, Matt and I zoomed out of her room and onto the elevator. Oh yeah, we were gonna make the Hunters wish they were fishermen.

_**END ACT IX**_


	10. Act X

_**ACT X**_

I, Elisa Maza, got back my mojo, sort of. A _Scooby Doo_-level deduction at best, the connection of lil Jon Canmore to reporter John Carter, but I'd take it given the fact I detected nothing else recently.

Kind of ironic how N.Y.C. was subjected to another terrorist attack an evening before a bright, clear Tuesday morning of September. The Taliban were not the perpetrators this time. No, there were three wealthy, spoiled brats who bore an inexplicable grudge against the beautiful gargoyles, and had no regard for who was in their way.

To worsen matters, not only was Jason Canmore fraudulent, but also that Selwyn Baker, of all people, forewarned me about it. It took one to know one, I supposed.

This disgusted me. It _all_ just…_disgusted_ me.

Nevertheless, we _had to _bring the Canmores to justice before the gargoyles awakened, because Goliath was going to be ballistic over yet another home loss. Unfortunately, there were no current photos of Robyn or Jon. Jason truly had protected them both. Still, my novice comparison was useful enough to find Jon's temporary workplace.

It was a crying shame WVRN hired a terrorist, because I actually enjoyed watching the local network so much that I even contributed to its Wikipedia page. To compete with WCBS, WNBC, WABC and WNYW, it started a few years ago and aired exclusive TV series and news coverage without reliance on other networks. Their studio was a few blocks away from Rockefeller Center, a small space that reminded me of that recent, crappy Rachel McAdams' movie_. _Matt and I introduced ourselves to the receptionist who in turn introduced us to Dusty, the news manager, a tall man who wore a blue vertical-striped button-down shirt, denim jeans, thin- rimmed glasses and a neatly trimmed goatee.

"Morning," Dusty greeted us and looked us up and down. 'You guys with the F.C.C.?"

"Not quite," I answered while I and Matt held out our gold badges for this man to see.

"Listen, uh, officers, we're really busy," he informed. "One of our reporters broke a huge story for us about gargoyles blowing up one of your precincts."

I growled. "It _wasn't_ gargoy-!" Matt wisely halted my tirade with hand near my mouth.

"It happened to be _our_ precinct, sir," Matt informed him. "We believe that your reporter 'John Carter' was directly responsible for its destruction."

Dusty paused, seeing the big picture as something even bigger. "You're alleging he's another McVeigh or Kaczynski? His demo reel looked like he'd been reporting for years!"

"I see. When was he hired?" I asked him.

"Uh, HR did it last…Wednesday?" The manager nervously answered.

"And you don't think such a major exclusive is unusual for a fresh reporter?" Matt smartly asked.

"Just told you, his reel is impeccable. And besides, we hardly question sources!" Dusty said. "Even if he did do what you accuse him of, the constitution still protects us."

"But we're not after you, sir," I assured the poor guy, but he knew his First Amendment well. "Is 'John' here now?"

Dusty shook his head left to right in the negative. "We wanted to congratulate him on the exclusive, but he never returned to the studio after he transmitted that footage. He might be here later for the six o'clock news, but either way we figured he earned some time off."

Oh, I doubted he'd return to reporting for the next twenty to life. But unfortunately, this approach was a bust. Matt and I thanked him for his time and let him return to running a manufactured news story.

Apparently, Jon, the very modest coward, skedaddled back to the sky-serpent. Due to the Constitution, there was zero chance for damage control. As Matt and I returned to the street and my car, I wondered: since that Micro-EMP blocks video signals, how did Jon Canmore shoot the footage?

"Maybe Stark created some kind of filter or special encasing for video cameras?" I surmised.

"Yeah, that makes sense," Matt concurred. "Its users would likely have their own video or radio gear."

"Speaking of Stark, I thought he was some kind of tin-plated super guy," I recalled. "He can't help us?"

"He's busy on some kind of super group, the Planeteers or whatever," Matt responded.

Demona, who also seemed to be the Hunters prey, _had _to have answers. Nightstone Industries was our next stop to question that gargoyle, who by now was human, less of a threat. Yep, Puck, the guy who I questioned yesterday, cast a spell on Demona where she turns into a human being instead of stone by day.

Nightstone Industries: what the hell was this company around for? At the twelve-story building we entered the lobby and attracting the teenage security guard's attention. We figured our badges gave us a free pass.

"I, uh, don't you…um…do you need a warrant?"The smart kid asked.

I sniffed the air and when Matt heard me, he mimicked me.

"You smell smoke?" I asked.

"Yeah, must be a fire; we should go up and check," he said while turning his head toward the guard, who nodded knowingly and gestured for us to follow him to the elevator. It was not many flights to Nightstone's main floor where Demona's office was located. The guard let us in, we thanked him and sent him back to his post.

While we walked through the dome-like, Bond-villainous office, a woman appeared before us. Well, she caused Matt's jaw to drop straight to the floor, as she looked like she stepped out of an episode of _Mad Men. _She was tall, pretty and blonde and wore a blue suit jacket tighter than it had any right to be. Good Lord, her boobs were so huge, they made mine look like mosquito bites. And since her skirt was practically a belt, her leg-line was stratospheric. God, how many hours did it take to shave those freakish things?

Anyway, I slightly pulled Bluestone's sleeve to break his gaze. We held out our badges and introduced ourselves by name. The blonde appeared to be surprised to see us, strangely focusing more on me than Matt.

"Oh, officers, thank goodness you're here!" Were her first words.

"I'm sorry, what's wrong, Miss…" I fished for a name. And this time, I truly smelled smoke.

"Oh, pardon me. I'm Miss Correy, Ms. Destine's executive assistant," her placid voice announced. "We've had some kind of break in!"

"What happened?" Matt asked.

She led us to a safe where its interior door was felled and burn marks adorned its edges. Matt and switched on our flashlights to check the inside of this room.

"I found the door like this as soon as I clocked in for the day," Miss Correy said. "I was just about to dial 911, then you two showed."

"Well, you're fortunate the Calvary arrived," Ordinarily his line would have made me retch a tiny bit. But in fairness, it reminded me of my own foolishness upon meeting Jason Conover, so it would be hypocritical for me to judge or preach. Besides, Matt commonly and successfully used his badge as an aphrodisiac, but it hadn't appeared to be so useful right now.

"Anything stolen?" I asked.

"I honestly am not sure," Ms. Correy answered with mild jitters. "This was her private safe, so perhaps there must have been something of corporate value?"

Hmm, heard that kind of nonsense before from David Xanatos. Plus, this woman was hardly a damsel-in-distress type.

"How long have you worked at Nightstone for Ms. Destine?" Matt asked while jotting notes.

"This begins my second day as an employee," the leggy blond responded.

Bluestone was hypnotized by her 90's-comic book-curvature, on the verge of asking for her number. I more closely scanned the entirety of the gigantic, but unexpected crime scene: no broken glass, no forced entry, no security alarms of any kind. It could very well have been an inside job, again close to Xanatos' song and dance.

Okay, it was crucial that Matt and I assumed safety positions. I tugged on the back of his coat, which meant end and allowed me to take over. Once he moved past Ms. Correy, I took his original spot while he stood behind her and to her left. I just hoped he would bounce back to professionalism and not stare at her ass (Admittedly, I was guilty of something similar. But hell, my emotions were eventually _toyed_ with.).

She was larger than me, but I was hardly intimidated. "Where is Ms. Destine, now?"

"On personal leave," was her convenient answer. "I neither know where she went nor for how long."

"And why are _you _here this early, Miss Correy?" I asked a fair question.

"Guess I'm an early bird," she answered.

My simple look signaled Matt to be near his weapon. Thank God his mind rose from the gutter because he pushed his coat back.

"Miss Correy, do you have access to Ms. Destine's private storage room?" I asked.

"Well, no. Why would-"

"Right, right, why _would_ the C.E.O. and owner of Nightstone Industries allow you access to her personal belongings?" _Yes_! This was so me! "I'm sure you haven't even gotten a key to the executive bathroom yet. Is it a unisex bathroom by any chance?"

"I have no id-"

"You don't seem like a native New Yorker," I continued the barrage and intently studied her face. "When did you arrive in town, Ms. Correy?"

"Last week. What does that have to-"

"Take in any sights, Broadway musicals?" I listed. "I hear _Turn Off The Dark_ injures all of their actors."

"Look, Detective Maza-"

"No, sorry, _you_ look!" I was already livid, hurting and maybe even a little PMS'd. But I already figured out this girl was _not_ the innocent she attempted to be, and I would _not_ let her lie to me again! "You should have been more thorough, not that you would have fooled me. I _have _seen this kind of subterfuge before!"

She tensed up. I saw it. "I've no idea what you're-"

"Your _first _name, Miss Correy," I rhetorically demanded.

Yeah, it was a slight challenge to compare the skinny teen girl from Jason's picture to the impossibly filled-out Amazon that stood before me, but it was…

"Robyn…. but my true surname is _Canmore_," she confirmed anyway with an extremely thick Scottish brogue. "You're very good, Detective Maza."

I immediately pulled out my weapon, as did Matt with his. We trained the sights on her and ordered her to raise her hands above her head. But in the blink of an eye, far faster than we could react, Robyn leapt ten feet upward, executed a mid air somersault and landed behind a desk several meters away from my left and Matt's right.

"The **hell?**" Matt reacted.

At the precise moment her heels tapped the glass floor, with sleight of hand she flung a pair of metal S-shaped projectiles that struck our guns and ejected them from our grips. No sooner than they clacked down, she'd already cleared the prior distance to reach us, and then repelled us both with a scissor kick to our chest.

While I gathered my bearings, Matt went in with a right cross. Robyn easily parried it and rammed a heel into his right knee, swiftly sent a left elbow to his neck, thrust the ball of her right fist into the bridge of his nose and windmill kicked his chest. The final blow sent him colliding into an assortment of equipment. All that happened in scant seconds.

Upon her assault completion, she was left vulnerable for me to tackle her from behind, but there was no resilience to her body. I locked my arms around her to try to cause her to lose footing or tire her out, but she was neither budging nor tiring.

"What're ye tryin' t'do, lady cop?" Robyn laughed it out; taunted me.

So, throwing police procedure in the toilet, I played dirty. I exposed her skin, and sunk my teeth into her side, biting her.

After Robyn roared in pain, she speedily mule-kicked my crotch. Shit, I seemed to have forgotten how to properly subdue a suspect. That hurt me enough to loosen my bear hug, upon which she instantly right-elbowed my ear and sent me wobbling back.

I was still alert, but good fighter Matt must have hit his head from the fall. So by my lonesome I had to pit my skills against a woman who made short work of a two hundred twenty five pound police officer, and also likely trained to fight heavier gargoyles her whole adult life. "You're under arrest, Clown Tits."

"C'mon, lass, I don't have all mornin' f'r this," Robyn impatiently announced, and danced in place like Muhammad Ali.

I dove in and quickly attempted a flurry of martial arts moves, but Robyn slapped my arms and legs aside. Refusing to toy any further, she slugged my jaw. The room spun as the blow spiraled me in midair before I landed with a crack to a clean section of the hard floor.

"Stay!" She ordered me exactly as one would to a dog.

But I was no mutt to be commanded. So I pushed myself up, ran in again and let loose more close proximity kicks and punches. Again, she deflected everything, neither getting winded, nor breaking a single drop of sweat. She smiled while making me look like a rank amateur.

"I said, 'stay,'" Robyn re-ordered.

Her fist crashed flush against my temple. Needles of pain shot through my entire head, causing daytime stars. Her elbows thrashed my neck, a right and left cross, a kick to my sternum doubled me over, and I believe her bare knee rose and slammed the soft portion of my jaw. But the force of that strike flipped me up, and landed me hard on my back. My breath shot out on impact.

I shifted to my side, and then to my hands and knees. A line of red fluid strung from my mouth and it pooled onto the floor. I saw double while Wonder Woman loomed over me. Her shoe thrust into my gut, and the remaining air in my lungs went bye-bye. A second boot hit my ribs, and I thought I heard something snap.

I slumped down onto my stomach, tasted metallic blood, and gasped for that sweet oxygen. Through unfocused vision, I saw our weapons only a few meters out of reach. I attempted to crawl, but then my scalp burned from my hair being pulled by Robyn. She pounded and sunk her knee against my spine, keeping me fixated.

"I haven't turned yer pretty face into haggis 'cause Jason fancies it," She warned me with her mouth near my left ear. "An' besides, you really aren't the enemy."

I heard a faint electronic beep from her person. One second later, from the corner of my eye I saw a large hoverbike crashed through the huge window behind Destine's desk and landed right near Robyn and me.

"We only scattered your gargoyle friends like roaches," Robyn hissed into my ear again. "But we'll exterminate them all the same."

With that warning, she released me but left me a parting shot in the form of a kick to my dorsum. I glanced to my right and saw her hop onto the hoverbike and soar out of the huge hole in the window.

"Matt? Matt, are you alive?" I weakly but audibly called out.

"Yeah," Matt answered just as weakly. "What happened?"

"We just got our asses whipped!"

Maybe I was still groggy from the meds. I should never have left the hospital. Hell, if ever had I needed a vacation, _now_ would have been the time.

No, no excuses, I failed again; yet another negative moment in my career. This time it was overconfidence plus rage that made me lose my edge. The perp was here! We had her dead to rights! 'Make the Hunters wish they were fishermen.' Yeah, _that_ was realistic.

The Hunters were as good as dead. And Goliath, who I cared about too much to lose to vengeance, would be the one who killed them. So now, it was _Goliath_ who had be stopped. But I had to use the truth to do it. It would be the only logical way.

I had to tell Goliath I loved him.

_**END ACT X **_


	11. Intermission

Author's Note:

To quote Goliath, "What sorcery is this?"

It is with much regret that due to circumstances beyond my control I will not be able to dictate the thoughts of our favorite fantasy Detective Elisa Maza. Believe me, I leave this story with a heavy heart, as I loved writing her thoughts as much as you loved reading them. While I do expect to revisit this tale of the Hunter's Moon, it will not be anytime soon.

Anyway, below is a deleted scene that took place after the car chase between Elisa and the robbers. I planned to show it once I finished the story, but since I cannot finish it right now, here you go.. Also feel free to read and review my other stories on Fanfiction.

Excelsior!

Lou Serbio

_**Deleted Scene**_

There was no real room for conversation while at the precinct. In respect to Matt, Jason worked at another desk. But I really wished I could have seen Jason's blue eyes while I occasionally looked up.

Sixty minutes later, Jason approached my desk and asked, "Miss me?"

"Not sure," I said with a smirk. "Finished up already?"

"Yeah; may have been more than what I'm accustomed to, but no real biggie," he answered. "And you?"

"This? This was nothing," I bragged, and then stood up with my one-track mind. "So, how about that java?"

And then my stomach grumbled loudly, even over the ruckus of our day-shifted office; another embarrassing moment, although to a far lesser extent. But it was a valid indication that I hadn't eaten anything in hours.

"Let's call it brunch," Jason responded.


	12. Act XI

_**ACT XI**_

I, Elisa Maza, was embarrassed, humiliated, lowest of the low, weakest of the weak, and unworthy to love Goliath.

Robyn Canmore's drubbing forcibly aged us by fifty years. We called this debacle in but Matt had enough strength to search for what she may have lifted from Demona's safe. Nothing else seemed to be touched, save for an empty floppy disk port; some kind of connection to the DI-7 robbery?

More cops and E.M.T.'s arrived. Because my ribs excruciated me with every breath I took, another hospital visit was in my immediate future. Gah.

"You good?" I asked Matt, who answered with a thumbs-up while I laid on the gurney, uh…again. "Okay, then, take my car to meet me at the…"

I tensed-up and then looked to the female E.M.T. who said, "North Central Bronx Hospital."

Ten minutes later, and after we finally reached here, I was treated for mild contusions and cuts. A M.R.I. showed no internal injuries or head trauma, but X-rays revealed three cracked ribs from Robyn's kicks. However, while the middle-aged M.D. examined my eyes, he sharply exhaled.

"Why the hell are you still working, Officer?" The salt and pepper-haired, bespectacled Doctor McMichael probably knew about me being drugged and unconscious. It doesn't take much to find out stuff in the 21st century.

"A pretty important case is preoccupying my time," I answered.

"Not anymore," Doctor McMichael responded matter-of-factly. "I will admit you here for care and…."

"Oh, _hell _no! You have no authority to do that!" I sounded almost exactly how I protested working the day shift.

"No, I don't, but I am recommending that you be placed on injury leave," he clarified. "So you might as well stay."

"I'm _fine_." But I shouldn't have hopped off the examination table, because it jarred my damaged ribs. I instinctively held them and then I looked up at the doctor.

"Told you so," he said with a smile before he left the room. "Let the staff know if you need any pain medicine."

Whatever. On the clock, off the clock, all I wanted to do was find Goliath. It was getting closer to eleven A.M. when I was assigned a room and wearing a damn hospital gown this time. Matt came in and had a bemused look on his face.

"Oh, I _have_ to Tweet this image to everyone," Matt exclaimed as he motioned his phone to take a picture.

"I'll shove that phone so far up your ass that when you fart you'll call China." My preventative words got Matt to replace the phone in his pocket.

While explained my predicament, I noticed my television had WVRN's coverage of the Hunters' attack on the 23rd; full blame on the gargoyles. It was best that the gargoyles were not awake to see it but the international coverage was unlikely to end once they awaken.

I raised the TV's volume to support the informational scroll on the lower-third of its screen, which read: _**'Manhattan Assistant District Attorney Margot Yale conducts press conference at bombing site.'**_

The catalyst to my worst week in the history of ever stood behind of a gaggle of microphones, and breathed in to speak. "_Our great city has been attacked and terrorized once again. This time, New York's Finest were senselessly targeted. Gargoyles are amongst us, and they are our newest enemies._"

Oh, shitballs on Melba toast!

"_I have been up close and personal with these vermin on several instances, but three nights ago they harassed and tormented me and an entire subway car of passengers. They have the capability to fight, speak and think, but lack any regard for human life. This, my fellow New Yorkers, my fellow Americans, is intolerable and unacceptable_."

Thank you Miss Tolerance 2010.

"_In light of this unprovoked attack, I have asked permission from Mayor Michael Bloomberg and Commissioner Ray Kelly to devote part of the city's budget to a Gargoyle Task Force. I call upon officers of the N.Y.P.D. to join and avenge your brothers and sisters in arms. We must either detain or destroy these abominations of nature. We will not stand for terrorism from humans and non-humans alike._"

Hey, Margot Yale, the 1970's called. They didn't want that wardrobe back.

Yale kept that speech short and bitter, and then began fielding questions from the press and media. Her answers for every question would be predictable, so I muted the volume. She had no idea how the gargoyles helped to protect our city and not even demanded anything in return for almost two years. Her bigotry would filter that truth, so I pitied her. She wasn't worth hating.

Matt seemed to pity her all the same. "She's got some nerve siphoning the city's precipitous budget on that crap."

My fellow officers hunting those I care about; there was no way I could support that brand of law enforcement. Now I would definitely have to quit. But wait…the proverbial light bulb appeared over my head.

"Go tell Yale you want to join-hell, _run _that goddamn thing." I strongly suggested to Matt.

Again, Matt must have seen miniature emus flew out of my nose or something. "I like the clan, too. I can't do that!"

"You'd be a figurehead who'd run _interference _from them, Bluestone!"

When I tapped my temple with my index finger for visual emphasis, Detective Matt Bluestone caught my drift. That weird conspiracy thing he lived by complemented Yale's nonsensical group. Were Matt cornered into having to capture the gargoyles his logic would undoubtedly keep them alive.

"Listen, I'm gonna attempt to talk some sense into Goliath tonight," Easier said by me than done, given the fact Doctor Anal Retention coerced me to stay. "Can you divert the gung-ho guns who want to bag a gargoyle?"

"Hey, it's me!" Matt cartoonishly shrugged but gave me a knowing smile. "Just remember you're not a hairy, clawed Canadian who heals in seconds. Get better."

So being in a hospital twice in the last few hours wasn't good. Plus all that was swirling around in my mind failed to help. I was reminded of my long, arduous stay in a hospital when I was accidentally shot. However, the only pleasantries were Goliath's after-hours visits. While it was kind of fun with Big Guy sneaking in through the window as if I were a teenager sneaking a boy into my room with parents downstairs, his presence was also a catharsis.

I'd never been shot before, and no matter how it happened it there was no avoiding its psychological trauma as well. But one day when I was trying to regain my equilibrium, I stumbled and fell to the floor. When Goliath neither caught me nor helped me stand, I was miffed because my sutures were still in. Then I realized that Goliath avoided coddling me. Sure, my family was always there for me. But during those days I mostly healed through Goliath's strength of will and frequent encouragement. I would never forget his rumbling whispers of John Keats' poetry at my bedside. The uniqueness of Goliath's aura worked wonders. Was that when I began to love Goliath as I did today?

But Goliath was not going to be here while I sat with busted ribs and watched him being lynched by the media, et al. A meat loaf (wasn't half bad, actually) dinner, and a sunset later, I heard Lexington's ring tone. The pain was killed by meds so I was not uncomfortable when I leaned over and answered the power-charging phone.

"Lex? Where are you? Are you all right?" I assumed it was either him or Brooklyn.

"Elisa, we're fine," It turned out to be Goliath, whose voice was even deeper over a phone receiver. "Our presence is spread throughout the city, as was my contingency plan for a long time. My concern is for you and your fellow officers."

"Oh, Goliath, we all made it out," I said to the Selfless One, but I wouldn't tell him about my ribs. "But I need to see you, _please_."

I heard a wash of air over the line, which meant he sighed heavily. "We should meet where you first watched over me."

"All right, hang onto Lexington's phone. I will text you when I get there."

"Very well," Goliath answered, and then I heard nothing else from him. I called his name a few times so I _hope_ he either hung up or the signal dropped, and was not discovered and attacked.

But now I had to get out of the hospital. I don't believe the doctor who admitted me was on duty so I simply asked the front desk for my clothes and personal belongings. When I changed back into plainclothes, I left the hospital, hailed a cab and headed towards Central Park.

It was already quite dark so cover was as familiar as it was when Big Guy first landed us in this park. Come to think of it, I wasn't recalling any other time that Goliath and I came here than that one time following our first ever tour of New York. Then the goons of Xanatos attempted to destroy him and me. Good times. Good times. Hopefully this was not going to be an encore presentation of such a horrifically monumental event.

But things had certainly come full circle. Somehow they always did.

I had the cabbie drop me off close to where our rendezvous was to be, and immediately sent Goliath a text. Never liked patrolling Central Park at night. It had a bad reputation and it was the only part of my job that I hated. Tonight had no promise to change my viewpoint, for I had to tell a being of another species that I had love for him, a love which he wouldn't requite. This was gonna sting like a rabid hornet.

While I waited for Goliath to approach from wherever he was, I searched the area for any of the new cameras. Those things were always moving around, but it's not like Goliath was easily photographed. While I knew where they'd rotated per week, I saw none and so we should have privacy, at least, as much as a public park allowed.

A few joggers and a headband-wearing speed walker sped past me while I waited about twenty five minutes. I wondered if Goliath ever got the text and worried that that when the call cut off he ran into the Hunters again, or worse, the police. He'd been through tough scrapes before, although the scale of this particular scrape is what obviously concerned me.

"Take it easy, Elisa," I thought aloud. I wrenched my hands and paced the patch of grass so much that I exposed the dirt underneath. Another fifteen minutes passed and the worry amplified. Where the blue hell was he?

A rustling in the trees above me answered my interrogative. I stared up at a pair of ocular lights floating amongst the leaves.

"The coast is clear," I assured him. "Come on down."

With another rustling, I saw the purple, gigantic and graceful Goliath silently swoop down and land ten feet in front of me.

"I apologize for my tardiness," Goliath said. "I had to be sure we were completely alone."

"Of course_ I_ am. I wouldn't bring anyone with all that's going on," I assured him. "How are you?"

I rushed up to him, not caring how little or much pain was involved. I needed his arms around me. But before I reached him, Goliath's left arm raised with his palm held parallel to me. Oh, no. He stopped me just…just like I stopped Sel from hugging…me.

"We are safe, as I said," he said stoically.

Something was really wrong here. But I explained everything to him that went on since he went to sleep: the negative media coverage, Yale's task force, my meeting up with the female Hunter, and…and…how Jason Canmore used me.

His eyes re-illuminated upon hearing about Jason. His hands balled into fists and his cloaked wings unfurled. "The Hunters have no honor! They must pay with their lives!"

"No! This is a police matter, a _national security_ matter," I assessed. "Let the_ law_ handle this!"

"Fie! Human laws pale in comparison to gargoyle law," Goliath weirdly declared.

With that unfounded comment, I wasn't exactly sure why Goliath was not listening to reason. He was acting more like Thailog, the Bizarro version of him. But I was a detective who loved him, God damn it, and I needed to understand where he was going with this! "Goliath, you're not making any sense."

He took in a breath through his nose, exhaled and looked at me through the sides of his reemergent eyes.

"I have suffered much loss and have been denied many rights in my life because of what I am, Elisa. It's a heavy weight on my soul." Goliath took a beat and then faced me straight on. "Gargoyles are neither driven by greed nor jealousy, but we are strongly inclined to integrate. I have grown impatient with those who deny both our rights and pursuit of my emotions. The Hunters represent an obstruction to our right to live."

"Again, not a lick of sense. Everyone on your side doesn't deny you a damn thing," I answered. "_I_ certainly don't deny you anything."

Goliath shut his eyes and turned away from me. The park had suddenly gotten very quiet: no car horns, no birds chirping, no people speaking or yelling, no music, and no breeze. I only heard just two heartbeats, mine and his. His seemed to sound broken.

"Goliath, don't you still trust me?" I asked with the hope he'd give a positive answer.

"I _thought_ I could trust you. I also thought I could exceed trusting you," he responded with a finite tone. "After what I saw at your apartment the other night, I don't know what to think."

And like an anvil in a Looney Tunes cartoon, it hit me. I knew I sensed him outside my apartment the other day! He saw my makeout session with Canmore! "Oh, my God. Goliath, listen to me. I stopped, even before I knew he was a Hunter. I stopped because I was thinking of you…of us. Nothing else happened!"

"Elisa, the destruction of the Hunters is all that we have left," He looked like he was going to leave. "The rest of us should reconvene at your apartment to discuss strategy."

"Goliath, wait! I have to tell you something!" He walked away from me, ignored me! "Don't run away from me, please!" He was about to climb a tree. "Goliath!" He sunk his right claw through the bark, and then I decided to resort to extreme measures. "TINY!"

During our Avalon quest, an Easter Island alien zapped my brain and afflicted me with amnesia. I hadn't recognized Goliath so I used 'Tiny' for his name. Using it at this instant stalled him cold. He pried his claw from the tree and faced me with eyes glowing.

"You're not the only one on this very large planet who suffered a loss!" I asked. "You know how many dead babies I've seen in my career? And my own goddamn mentor _just murdered his wife_! There's a plethora of tragedy to go around!"

My voice cracked with that last sentence and I now saw Goliath thru tears welling up in my eyes. Goliath's pupils reappeared as he seemed to soften a little. He walked up to me, brushed his right index finger against my left cheek, and gently wiped away the stilled stream of salt water.

"I'm so sorry, Elisa," he sincerely answered. "Still, those examples prove just how different our worlds are. You have made that very evident to me."

"When the hell have I ever said that?" But as soon as I asked the question, it became clearer than the finest crystal what he was referring to: after the Mirror incident, and after we returned from Avalon. I remembered my own reactions both times, and I recalled his quite clearly now.

"Are you trying to tell me that you..." I gulped in disbelieving the possibility, "…you have_ feelings_ for me?"

Goliath turned away once more, and looked to be ashamed in the same manner as before he asked to stroke my hair. I couldn't believe my eyes, and he didn't even need to say it:

Goliath loved me.

My knees buckled and I felt mild waves of nausea. Obviously, that wasn't solely because of all the injuries I'd sustained. It was because I hardly expected his feelings were ever mutual.

I was such a…lowly human loser who rejected Goliath's efforts to integrate. I should have been fully aware of why we publicly displayed affection on that subway. I should have paid closer attention to our close call on the balcony a few nights ago. But no, I had to act on a schoolgirl crush on a scumbag Hunter. Now I don't even know if Goliath's love for me still existed.

"I love you, too, Goliath," I had to try. "What do you think about that?"

He looked at me in shock, but his expression then settled into stagnancy. "I think…you are merely trying to make me feel better."

"Goliath, from the entirety of my heart, I _love_ you," I couldn't have stopped myself from repeating it.

But Goliath retraced his steps to the tree he was about to climb, and once again my vision was blurred by the salty fluids called tears.

"Each member of the clan will meet at your apartment in ten minute intervals," he noted. "Text me when you return there."

With cat-like reflexes, Big Guy skittered up the tall oak tree, through the foliage and soared away from me.

Then I vomited up that decent meatloaf, and something else I hadn't even remembered eating.

_**END ACT XI**_


	13. ACT XII

_**ACT XII**_

I, Elisa Maza, was deceived by a man who impersonated an officer, beaten up by RoboBimbo, practically suspended from my job by an overpaid doctor, and rejected by a gargoyle. So where the hell was Avalon to fix _my_ problems? I expected Future Me to pop in with the Phoenix Gate to rescue me from this situation.

Actually, I really wished Goliath and I were still in Paris, the most romantic city in the world. I now recall it was there when he first expressed affection for me, even love. Had my eyes been open much wider back then, we probably would be in less of a pickle right now

Still, I should bear some responsibility for this particular dilemma. We _must_ prevent Goliath from slaying the Hunter Triad. He was so very transfixed on such a dubious goal that he completely refrained from acknowledging my dual declaration of love. He wouldn't even admit to sharing the sentiment.

I was far from thrilled how Goliath just vamoosed, but still, it was better I was long out of his sight. It sure would have been interesting had he held my hair back while I regurgitated my hospital food. All guys just _want _to do that, right?

My ribs weren't exactly partying hearty after the spewage, but now I was against Goliath's clock and had to go home _tout suite_. I cursed myself for loaning Matt my car while I hailed another cab at the nearest street, but hell, life wasn't gonna be smooth for me this week anyway; no point in simplifying it.

Jalapeña, I was so pathetic I could have retched again.

Traffic was heavier than I wished. I opted out of the subway 'cause with my luck, Larry, Curly and Moe from a few nights ago might coincidentally have made bail, been there and recognized me. More of a fear of inconvenience than the men.

Without the benefit of that claw wipe in time, a half hour and twenty dollars later I messaged Goliath in front of my apartment building: "sorry took 2 long. send everyone to my apt." Goliath's strategy of sending the clan one member at a time was lofty but smart. They pulled off stealth as a group for two years, and one gargoyle can slip past anyone.

In my place, I immediately and vigorously mouthwashed. I had no time to shower but I had freshened up a bit to a semblance of cleanliness. Forever I waited on my couch for Angela, who was first to my balcony.

"Elisa!" The teenaged gargoyle called out while she entered through the skylight. "Goliath told me you ran into the bitch who got me with that nerve gas boomerang thingy."

"Robyn Canmore, She broke my ribs, too," I appended.

Angela's eyes luminously reddened and she hissed at the context. "I'm gonna yank out her intestines through her throat."

"Stop it, Angela." I couldn't let her be corrupted. "You know damn well killing them makes it worse for all of you."

For a few seconds, Angela paced my rug until Cagney pattered up to her. She picked him up, let loose a short sigh and faced me with concession. "What the hell are we supposed to do?"

"Nothing different than what your clan has done since they arrived in Manhattan," I answered. "Goliath is thinking just the polar opposite of that right now."

"Well, we'll just have to convince him otherwise," she surmised.

"I tried. I tried with the truth," I said while I sat on my couch. "Angela, I'm in love with your father." I confessed to Goliath's only child. "I thought telling him so would change his mindset, but he didn't believe me. And now, he's…"

"Oh, my," the adolescent gargoyle, who hadn't looked very surprised, set down Cagney and joined me on the couch.

I knew exactly how I saw Angela, as a niece. But now that I admitted my feelings for Goliath, I wondered if that relationship would evolve into something more…_maternal_ for me? Nah, I was jumping the gun.

She placed her right hand on my left shoulder. "Do you want me to talk to him about this?"

"Let's concentrate on keeping him grounded." I suggested while I placed my hand atop hers.

Angela nodded in agreement. "He loves you, too, you know."

"I do know," was my admission.

"That's good to hear, lass," The bearded, elderly, tan-hued soldier Hudson suddenly appeared within the balcony door. We stood up and I was delighted to see him, because I barely got a chance to converse with either Angela or him.

"Oh, Hudson, I am so relieved you're better," I would have run up to hug him but my ribs were friggin' killing me.

"Ach, me fifteen minutes o' fame should already be dwindling," the old soldier said. "Instead they're goin' strong on the television, aren't they?"

"There's not a lot we can do about that, Hudson," I answered. "Matt and I tried."

When the media put their grubby hands into a juicy story, they wouldn't let go. Richard Jewell was wrongfully skewered by thousands of news outlets when he was initially suspected of bombing Atlanta's Centennial Park during the 1996 Olympics. The gargoyles were under far worse media and public scrutiny, and would likely never climb out of this mess, especially with a disagreeable Goliath.

"This is far from idle gossip about us in the castle a thousand years ago," Hudson said.

"The entire _world_ will hate us, and I'm beginning to hate the news," were Angela's additional thoughts, as she sat on the couch with arms crossed. The former thought I disagreed with, the latter I concurred with.

Hudson turned to me. "Elisa, you are one of the clan, but ye don't have t'share our burdens. Your association with us can cost ye your job and worse, your life."

I recounted stories Grandpa, my mother's father, told me about his dodging of lynch mobs. Mom always saw a little bit of him in me. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Aye," Hudson gave a knowing nod. "But we're in agreement that our leader has to dial back the vengeance angle."

A few minutes later, Brooklyn appeared.

"So, yeah, I heard there's a room for rent here?" He said. "And is it free? ''Cause I am completely tapped out."

"You're all welcome to stay as long as you like," I said.

"Lass, we cannae do that," Hudson announced.

"Yeah, I was only kidding," Brooklyn added. "We'll find another place."

"Hi! Gang's not all here yet?" Broadway asked upon his appearance ten minutes later.

"Broadway!" Angela leapt to her feet and jumped into his arms with a huge squeeze around his neck. He reciprocated with hugging her.

Brooklyn seemed rather downtrodden at their behavior. While I was in no position to analyze, that seemed to be a distraction for the second in command. I walked up to him.

"Brooklyn, I need you to back me up on something," was my request. "Goliath's current leadership skills are questionable," I analyzed. "He'll get himself or all of you captured or killed. So you have to step up to the plate to prevent that."

"He _was _acting recklessly at the Hunter's ship." Brooklyn never wanted the role of leader but it was now or never for him, even if he wasn't able to stop Goliath. "I've got your back, Elisa."

"Anyway, how did you guys avoid getting demolished?" I was naturally curious. "We barely bought cover all those floors down from you!"

"The female Hunter placed this tracking device on Goliath, likely just before he attempted to kill her," Lexington added upon his personal appearance. Between his thumb and forefinger he held a tiny, cylindrical, electronic object the size of a piece of peppermint candy. "We took cover out of the blast range."

"Lex, you're okay!" I noticed.

"Yeah, I got rocked pretty hard. We all were. But this thing I wasn't letting go of," Lex recounted. "It's deactivated. The Hunters won't be blowing up your apartment, Elisa."

"I don't give a shit about the apartment. I care about all of you." Any other time and I would have asked for a group hug.

"We're pretty resilient," Broadway answered.

In the meantime, I'd offered red wine to my guests for I was sure that they needed some kind of spirits. Only Angela partook, with a Molson; always figured her to be a beer drinker. Everyone else watched and was saddened by the never-ending news coverage.

Finally, after one hour since Angela arrived, the Big Guy swooped down at my skylight carrying Bronx the beast, who ran up to and licked Hudson. But Goliath, upon entry, was silent and stolid. The clan and I were not even sure what to say as we watched him stomp all the way into my living room.

"Have you all been discussing strategy against the Hunters, Elisa?" He asked, but Hudson and the others stood up, gathered around him.

"Actually, we haven't," I was not sorry to say. "We've tried to think of how to talk you out of this potential war."

"Oh, that is just perfect," was his uncharacteristic response.

"Goliath, please, let the _law_ handle this," I reiterated in the hopes that he'd rescind his plan.

"The law?" He angrily repeated, as if it was a new word in his vocabulary. "What about justice?"

"Look, I'm sorry, but you don't want justice," I said while I took his hand in both of mine. "You want vengeance."

"She's right, Goliath," Brooklyn concurred, stepping up to the plate.

"What?" was Goliath's elongated response, synonymous with 'step off, punk bitch,'

"Look at what this feud has cost us already!" Angela chimed in.

"That's _exactly _why we must have vengeance!" Goliath's voice was jagged and loud, and he was _really_ far gone if even his daughter couldn't talk sense into him.

"Or maybe," Hudson stepped into the circle and placed a caring hand on his shoulder. "That's why we should let it go."

Goliath pushed through his clan to an end table where the mini-communicator was. He put it on and went to the brainy Lex.

"Lexington, can you guide me to them?" Goliath rhetorically asked. He knew Lex was smarter than everyone in the room.

"I…think so. They use this tracer to find us," Lexington reluctantly answered while holding it between his forefingers. He pointed at my computer, all of which had Google Maps. "I should be able to trail their signal back to its source."

But if anyone could make it work, it was Lexington. He handed over the tracer to Goliath, who walked back toward the skylight and pushed it open. As we followed, Brooklyn gave me a look, conceding to his leader's wishes. I nodded in understanding.

"Listen, Goliath, you know we're with you," Brooklyn said.

"Stay here. That's an order!" Goliath responded, and then took off to God knew where. At least he wasn't risking the lives of the clan. So that meant we got through to him in some manner.

Butsorry, Goliath, whether I was in this clan or not, the only person I took orders from was Captain Maria Chavez. I ran over to the kitchen table and grabbed my BlackBerry. Good, it had a full charge.

"Broadway, I need a lift. Can you stay out of Goliath's sight if we catch up to him?" I asked.

"Are you kidding?" Broadway began. "I was the biggest hatchling in the rookery and during hide & seek, he _still _never found me!"

"Elisa, what're you planning?" Angela asked.

"Brooklyn, have everyone else follow Goliath's order," I continued the list. "Lex, you can tie in that source signal to the G.P.S. in my BlackBerry?"

"Yeah, I can do that, too!" Lexington happily replied.

"Perfecto," I said. "We're going to end a war before it starts."

_**END ACT XII**_


End file.
